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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2006  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/scarletletterOOhawtiala 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


THE 


SCARLET   LETTER. 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 


jHUftftttl. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,    and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1878. 


Copyright,  1850  and  1877. 
By  NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  and  JAMES   R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 

October  32, 1874. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


|UCH  to  the  author's  surprise,  and  (if 
he  may  say  so  without  additional 
offence)  considerably  to  his  amusement, 
he  finds  that  his  sketch  of  official 
life,  introductory  to  The  Scarlet 
Letter,  has  created  an  unprecedented  excitement  in 
the  respectable  community  immediately  around  him. 
It  could  hardly  have  been  more  violent,  indeed,  had 
he  burned  down  the  Custom-House,  and  quenched  its 
last  smoking  ember  in  the  blood  of  a  certain  venerable 
personage,  against  whom  he  is  supposed  to  cherish  a 
peculiar  malevolence.  As  the  public  disapprobation 
would  weigh  very  heavily  on  him,  were  he  conscious 
of  deserving  it,  the  author  begs  leave  to  say,  that  he 
has  carefully  read  over   the   introductory   pages,  with  a 


2220750 


iv  PREFACE. 

purpose  to  alter  or  expunge  whatever  might  be  found 
amiss,  and  to  make  the  best  reparation  in  his  power 
for  the  atrocities  of  which  he  has  been  adjudged  guilty. 
But  it  appears  to  him,  that  the  only  remarkable  fea- 
tures of  the  sketch  are  its  frank  and  genuine  good- 
humor,  and  the  general  accuracy  with  which  he  has 
conveyed  his  sincere  impressions  of  the  characters 
therein  described.  As  to  enmity,  or  ill-feeling  of  any 
kind,  personal  or  political,  he  utterly  disclaims  such 
motives.  The  sketch  might,  perhaps,  have  been  wholly 
omitted,  without  loss  to  the  public,  or  detriment  to 
the  book;  but,  having  undertaken  to  write  it,  he  con- 
ceives that  it  could  not  have  been  done  in  a  better  or 
a  kindlier  spirit,  nor,  so  far  as  his  abilities  availed,  with 
a   livelier   effect   of  truth. 

The  author  is  constrained,  therefore,  to  republish  his 
introductory   sketch   without   the    change   of  a  word. 

Salem,  March  30,  1850. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

The  Custom-House.  —  Introductory 1 

THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

I.    The  Prison-Door 51 

II.    The  Market-Place 54 

III.  The  Recognition 68 

IV.  The  Interview 80 

V.    Hester  at  her  Needle 90 

VI.    Pearl 104 

VII.    The  Governor's  Hall 118 

VIII.    The  Elf-Child  and  the  Minister        .         .         .  129 

IX.    The  Leech 142 

X.    The  Leech  and  his  Patient         ....  155 

XI.    The  Interior  of  a  Heart 168 

XII.    The  Minister's  Vigil 177 

XIII.  Another  View  of  Hester         .         .         .         .         .193 

XIV.  Hester  and  the  Physician 204 


vi  CONTENTS. 

XV.  Hester  and  Pearl 212 

XVI.  A  Forest  Walk 223 

XVII.  The  Pastor  and  his  Parishioner  .         .         •  231 

XVIII.  A  Flood  of  Sunshine 245 

XIX.  The  Child  at  the  Brook-side       ....  253 

XX.  The  Minister  in  a  Maze 264 

XXI.  The  New  England  Holiday 277 

XXII.  The  Procession 288 

XXIII.  The  Eevelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter        .        .  302 

XXIV.  Conclusion 315 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Drawn,  by  Mary  Hallock  Foote  and  Engraved  by  A.  V.  S.  Anthony. 
ornamental  head-pieces  are  by  L.  S.  Ipsen. 


The 


Paoe 

The  Custom-House            1 

The  Prison  Door 49 

Vignette,  —  Wild  Rose 51 

The  Gossips 57 

"  Standing  on  the  Miserable  Eminence  " 65 

"She  was  led  back  to  Prison" 78 

"The  Eyes  of  the  wrinkled  Scholar  glowed"  ....  87 

The  Lonesome  Dwelling 93 

Lonely  Footsteps 99 

Vignette 104 

A  touch  of  Pearl's  baby-hand 113 

Vignette 118 

The  Governor's  Breastplate 125 

"  Look  thou  to  it  !  I  will  not  lose  the  child  ! "    .        .        .  135 

The  Minister  and  Leech 148 

The  Leech  and  his  Patient 165 


viii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Virgins  or  the  Church 172 

"They  stood  in  the  noon  of  that  strange  splendor"        .        .  185 

Hester  in  the  House  of  Mourning 195 

Mandrake 211 

"He  gathered  herbs  here  and  there" 213 

Pearl  on  the  Sea-Shore 217 

"  Wilt  thou  yet  forgive  me  ?  " 237 

A  Gleam  of  Sunshine 249 

The  Child  at  the  Brook-Side 257 

Chillingworth,  —  "  Smile  with  a  sinister  meaning  "  .        .        .  287 

New  England  Worthies 289 

"  Shall  we  not  meet  again  ?  " 311 

Hester's  Return 320 


THE   CUSTOM-HOUSE 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO   "THE  SCARLET  LETTER." 


^TT    is    a  little   remarkable,    that  —  though    disin- 

V  clined  to  talk  overmuch  of  myself  and  my  affairs 

at  the  fireside,  and  to  my  personal  friends  —  an 


4g  autobiographical  impulse  should  twice  in  my  life 
have  taken  possession  of  me,  in  addressing  the 
public.  The  first  time  was  three  or  four  years 
since,  when  I  favored  the  reader  —  inexcusably,  and  for  no 
earthly  reason,  that  either  the  indulgent  reader  or  the  intrusive 
author  could  imagine  —  with  a  description  of  my  way  of  life  in 
the  deep  quietude  of  an  Old  Manse.  And  now  —  because,  be- 
yond my  deserts,  I  was  happy  enough  to  find  a  listener  or  two 
on  the  former  occasion  —  I  again  seize  the  public  by  the  button, 
and  talk  of  my  three  years'  experience  in  a  Custom-House.     The 


2  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

example  of  the  famous  "P.  P.,  Clerk  of  this  Parish,"  was  never 
more  faithfully  followed.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that, 
when  he  casts  his  leaves  forth  upon  the  wind,  the  author  ad- 
dresses, not  the  many  who  will  fling  aside  his  volume,  or  never 
take  it  up,  but  the  few  who  will  understand  him,  better  than 
most  of  his  schoolmates  or  lifemates.  Some  authors,  indeed,  do 
far  more  than  this,  and  indulge  themselves  in  such  confidential 
depths  of  revelation  as  could  fittingly  be  addressed,  only  and 
exclusively,  to  the  one  heart  and  mind  of  perfect  sympathy;  as 
if  the  printed  book,  thrown  at  large  on  the  wide  world,  were 
certain  to  find  out  the  divided  segment  of  the  writer's  own 
nature,  and  complete  his  circle  of  existence  by  bringing  him 
into  communion  with  it.  It  is  scarcely  decorous,  however,  to 
speak  all,  even  where  we  speak  impersonally.  But,  as  thoughts 
are  frozen  and  utterance  benumbed,  unless  the  speaker  stand  in 
some  true  relation  with  his  audience,  it  may  be  pardonable  to 
imagine  that  a  friend,  a  kind  and  apprehensive,  though  not  the 
closest  friend,  is  listening  to  our  talk;  and  then,  a  native  re- 
serve being  thawed  by  this  genial  consciousness,  we  may  prate 
of  the  circumstances  that  lie  around  us,  and  even  of  ourself, 
but  still  keep  the  inmost  Me  behind  its  veil.  To  this  extent, 
and  within  these  limits,  an  author,  methinks,  may  be  autobio- 
graphical, without  violating  either  the  reader's  rights  or  his 
own. 

It  will  be  seen,  likewise,  that  this  Custom-House  sketch  has 
a  certain  propriety,  of  a  kind  always  recognized  in  literature,  as 
explaining  how  a  large  portion  of  the  following  pages  came  into 
my  possession,  and  as  offering  proofs  of  the  authenticity  of  a 
narrative  therein  contained.  This,  in  fact,  —  a  desire  to  put 
myself  in  my  true  position  as  editor,  or  very  little  more,  of  the 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  3 

most  prolix  among  the  tales  that  make  up  my  volume,  —  this, 
and  no  other,  is  my  true  reason  for  assuming  a  personal  relation 
with  the  public.  In  accomplishing  the  main  purpose,  it  has 
appeared  allowable,  by  a  few  extra  touches,  to  give  a  faint  rep- 
resentation of  a  mode  of  life  not  heretofore  described,  together 
with  some  of  the  characters  that  move  in  it,  among  whom  the 
author  happened  to  make  one. 

In  my  native  town  of  Salem,  at  the  head  of  what,  half  a  cen- 
tury ago,  in  the  days  of  old  King  Derby,  was  a  bustling  wharf,  — 
but  which  is  now  burdened  with  decayed  wooden  warehouses, 
and  exhibits  few  or  no  symptoms  of  commercial  life ;  except, 
perhaps,  a  bark  or  brig,  half-way  down  its  melancholy  length, 
discharging  hides;  or,  nearer  at  hand,  a  Nova  Scotia  schooner, 
pitching  out  her  cargo  of  firewood,  —  at  the  head,  I  say,  of  this 
dilapidated  wharf,  which  the  tide  often  overflows,  and  along 
which,  at  the  base  and  in  the  rear  of  the  row  of  buildings,  the 
track  of  many  languid  years  is  seen  in  a  border  of  unthrifty 
grass,  —  here,  with  a  view  from  its  front  windows  adown  this 
not  very  enlivening  prospect,  and  thence  across  the  harbor,  stands 
a  spacious  edifice  of  brick.  From  the  loftiest  point  of  its  roof, 
during  precisely  three  and  a  half  hours  of  each  forenoon,  floats 
or  droops,  in  breeze  or  calm,  the  banner  of  the  republic;  but 
with  the  thirteen  stripes  turned  vertically,  instead  of  horizontally, 
and  thus  indicating  that  a  civil,  and  not  a  military  post  of  Uncle 
Sam's  government  is  here  established.  Its  front  is  ornamented 
with  a  portico  of  half  a  dozen  wooden  pillars,  supporting  a  bal- 
cony, beneath  which  a  flight  of  wide  granite  steps  descends 
towards  the  street.  Over  the  entrance  hovers  an  enormous  spe- 
cimen  of  the   American   eagle,   with   outspread   wings,   a   shield 


4  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

before  her  breast,  and,  if  I  recollect  aright,  a  bunch  of  inter- 
mingled thunderbolts  and  barbed  arrows  in  each  claw.  With 
the  customary  infirmity  of  temper  that  characterizes  this  unhappy 
fowl,  she  appears,  by  the  fierceness  of  her  beak  and  eye,  and  the 
general  truculency  of  her  attitude,  to  threaten  mischief  to  the 
inoffensive  community;  and  especially  to  warn  all  citizens,  care- 
ful of  their  safety,  against  intruding  on  the  premises  which  she 
overshadows  with  her  wings.  Nevertheless,  vixenly  as  she  looks, 
many  people  are  seeking,  at  this  Very  moment,  to  shelter  them- 
selves under  the  wing  of  the  federal  eagle;  imagining,  I  pre- 
sume, that  her  bosom  has  all  the  softness  and  snugness  of  an 
eider-down  pillow.  But  she  has  no  great  tenderness,  even  in 
her  best  of  moods,  and,  sooner  or  later,  —  oftener  soon  than 
late,  —  is  apt  to  fling  off  her  nestlings,  with  a  scratch  of  her 
claw,  a  dab  of  her  beak,  or  a  rankling  wound  from  her  barbed 
arrows. 

The  pavement  round  about  the  above-described  edifice  —  which 
we  may  as  well  name  at  once  as  the  Custom-House  of  the  port  — 
has  grass  enough  growing  in  its  chinks  to  show  that  it  has  not, 
of  late  days,  been  worn  by  any  multitudinous  resort  of  business. 
In  some  months  of  the  year,  however,  there  often  chances  a  fore- 
noon when  affairs  move  onward  with  a  livelier  tread.  Such  occa- 
sions might  remind  the  elderly  citizen  of  that  period  before  the 
last  war  with  England,  when  Salem  was  a  port  by  itself;  not 
scorned,  as  she  is  now,  by  her  own  merchants  and  ship-owners, 
who  permit  her  wharves  to  crumble  to  ruin,  while  their  ventures 
go  to  swell,  needlessly  and  imperceptibly,  the  mighty  flood  of 
commerce  at  New  York  or  Boston.  On  some  such  morning, 
when  three  or  four  vessels  happen  to  have  arrived  at  once, — 
usually  from  Africa  or  South  America,  —  or  to  be  on  the  verge 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  5 

of  their  departure  thitherward,  there  is  a  sound  of  frequent  feet, 
passing  briskly  up  and  down  the  granite  steps.  Here,  before  his 
own  wife  has  greeted  him,  you  may  greet  the  sea-flushed  ship- 
master, just  in  port,  with  his  vessel's  papers  under  his  arm,  in 
a  tarnished  tin  box.  Here,  too,  comes  his  owner,  cheerful  or 
sombre,  gracious  or  in  the  sulks,  accordingly  as  his  scheme  of 
the  now  accomplished  voyage  has  been  realized  in  merchandise 
that  will  readily  be  turned  to  gold,  or  has  buried  him  under  a 
bulk  of  incommodities,  such  as  nobody  will  care  to  rid  him  of. 
Here,  likewise,  —  the  germ  of  the  wrinkle-browed,  grizzly-bearded, 
care-worn  merchant,  —  we  have  the  smart  young  clerk,  who  gets 
the  taste  of  traffic  as  a  wolf-cub  does  of  blood,  and  already  sends 
adventures  in  his  master's  ships,  when  he  had  better  be  sailing 
mimic-boats  upon  a  mill-pond.  Another  figure  in  the  scene  is 
the  outward-bound  sailor  in  quest  of  a  protection;  or  the  re- 
cently arrived  one,  pale  and  feeble,  seeking  a  passport  to  the 
hospital.  Nor  must  we  forget  the  captains  of  the  rusty  little 
schooners  that  bring  firewood  from  the  British  provinces;  a 
rough-looking  set  of  tarpaulins,  without  the  alertness  of  the 
Yankee  aspect,  but  contributing  an  item  of  no  slight  importance 
to  our  decaying  trade. 

Cluster  all  these  individuals  together,  as  they  sometimes  were, 
with  other  miscellaneous  ones  to  diversify  the  group,  and,  for 
the  time  being,  it  made  the  Custom-House  a  stirring  scene.  More 
frequently,  however,  on  ascending  the  steps,  you  would  discern  — 
in  the  entry,  if  it  were  summer  time,  or  in  their  appropriate  rooms, 
if  wintry  or  inclement  weather  —  a  row  of  venerable  figures,  sit- 
ting in  old-fashioned  chairs,  which  were  tipped  on  their  hind 
legs  back  against  the  wall.  Oftentimes  they  were  asleep,  but 
occasionally  might  be  heard  talking  together,  in  voices  between 


6  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

speech  and  a  snore,  and  with  that  lack  of  energy  that  distin- 
guishes the  occupants  of  almshouses,  and  all  other  human  beings 
who  depend  for  subsistence  on  charity,  on  monopolized  labor, 
or  anything  else,  but  their  own  independent  exertions.  These 
old  gentlemen  —  seated,  like  Matthew,  at  the  receipt  of  customs, 
but  not  very  liable  to  be  summoned  thence,  like  him,  for  apos- 
tolic errands  —  were  Custom-House  officers. 

Furthermore,  on  the  left  hand  as  you  enter  the  front  door,  is 
a  certain  room  or  office,  about  fifteen  feet  square,  and  of  a  lofty 
height;  with  two  of  its  arched  windows  commanding  a  view  of 
the  aforesaid  dilapidated  wharf,  and  the  third  looking  across  a 
narrow  lane,  and  along  a  portion  of  Derby  Street.  All  three 
give  glimjises  of  the  shops  of  grocers,  block-makers,  slop-sellers, 
and  ship-chandlers;  around  the  doors  of  which  are  generally  to 
be  seen,  laughing  and  gossiping,  clusters  of  old  salts,  and  such 
other  wharf-rats  as  haunt  the  Wapping  of  a  seaport.  The  room 
itself  is  cobwebbed,  and  dingy  with  old  paint;  its  floor  is  strewn 
with  gray  sand,  in  a  fashion  that  has  elsewhere  fallen  into  long 
disuse;  and  it  is  easy  to  conclude,  from  the  general  slovenliness 
of  the  place,  that  this  is  a  sanctuary  into  which  womankind, 
with  her  tools  of  magic,  the  broom  and  mop,  has  very  infre- 
quent access.  In  the  way  of  furniture,  there  is  a  stove  with 
a  voluminous  funnel;  an  old  pine  desk,  with  a  three-legged 
stool  beside  it;  two  or  three  wooden-bottom  chairs,  exceedingly 
decrepit  and  infirm;  and  —  not  to  forget  the  library — on  some 
shelves,  a  score  or  two  of  volumes  of  the  Acts  of  Congress,  and 
a  bulky  Digest  of  the  Revenue  Laws.  A  tin  pipe  ascends  through 
the  ceiling,  and  forms  a  medium  of  vocal  communication  with 
other  parts  of  the  edifice.  And  here,  some  six  months  ago, — 
pacing   from  corner  to  corner,  or  lounging   on  the  long-legged 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  7 

stool,  with  his  elbow  on  the  desk,  and  his  eyes  wandering  up 
and  down  the  columns  of  the  morning  newspaper,  —  you  might 
have  recognized,  honored  reader,  the  same  individual  who  wel- 
comed you  into  his  cheery  little  study,  where  the  sunshine  glim- 
mered so  pleasantly  through  the  willow  branches,  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Old  Manse.  But  now,  should  you  go  thither  to  seek 
him,  you  would  inquire  in  vain  for  the  Locofoco  Surveyor.  The 
besom  of  reform  has  swept  him  out  of  office;  and  a  worthier 
successor  wears  his  dignity,  and  pockets  his  emoluments. 

This  old  town  of  Salem  —  my  native  place,  though  I  have 
dwelt  much  away  from  it,  both  in  boyhood  and  maturer  years 
—  possesses,  or  did  possess,  a  hold  on  my  affections,  the  force 
of  which  I  have  never  realized  during  my  seasons  of  actual  resi- 
dence here.  Indeed,  so  far  as  its  physical  aspect  is  concerned, 
with  its  flat,  unvaried  surface,  covered  chiefly  with  wooden  houses, 
few  or  none  of  which  pretend  to  architectural  beauty,  —  its 
irregularity,  which  is  neither  picturesque  nor  quaint,  but  only 
tame,  —  its  long  and  lazy  street,  lounging  wearisomely  through 
the  whole  extent  of  the  peninsula,  with  Gallows  Hill  and  New 
Guinea  at  one  end,  and  a  view  of  the  almshouse  at  the  other,— 
such  being  the  features  of  my  native  town,  it  would  be  quite 
as  reasonable  to  form  a  sentimental  attachment  to  a  disarranged 
checker-board.  And  yet,  though  invariably  happiest  elsewhere, 
there  is  within  me  a  feeling  for  old  Salem,  which,  in  lack  of  a 
better  phrase,  I  must  be  content  to  call  affection.  The  senti- 
ment is  probably  assignable  to  the  deep  and  aged  roots  which 
my  family  has  struck  into  the  soil.  It  is  now  nearly  two  cen- 
turies and  a  quarter  since  the  original  Briton,  the  earliest  emi- 
grant of  my  name,  made  his  appearance  in  the  wild  and  forest- 
bordered  settlement,  which  has  since  become  a  city.     And  here 


8  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

his  descendants  have  been  born  and  died,  and  have  mingled  their 
earthy  substance  with  the  soil ;  until  no  small  portion  of  it  must 
necessarily  be  akin  to  the  mortal  frame  wherewith,  for  a  little 
while,  I  walk  the  streets.  In  part,  therefore,  the  attachment 
which  I  speak  of  is  the  mere  sensuous  sympathy  of  dust  for 
dust.  Pew  of  my  countrymen  can  know  what  it  is;  nor,  as 
frequent  transplantation  is  perhaps  better  for  the  stock,  need 
they  consider  it  desirable  to  know. 

But  the  sentiment  has  likewise  its  moral  quality.  The  figure 
of  that  first  ancestor,  invested  by  family  tradition  with  a  dim 
and  dusky  grandeur,  was  present  to  my  boyish  imagination,  as 
far  back  as  I  can  remember.  It  still  haunts  me,  and  induces 
a  sort  of  home-feeling  with  the  past,  which  I  scarcely  claim  in 
reference  to  the  present  phase  of  the  town.  I  seem  to  have  a 
stronger  claim  to  a  residence  here  on  account  of  this  grave, 
bearded,  sable-cloaked  and  steeple-crowned  progenitor,  —  who 
came  so  early,  with  his  Bible  and  his  sword,  and  trode  the 
unworn  street  with  such  a  stately  port,  and  made  so  large  a 
figure,  as  a  man  of  war  and  peace,  —  a  stronger  claim  than  for 
myself,  whose  name  is  seldom  heard  and  my  face  hardly  known. 
He  was  a  soldier,  legislator,  judge ;  he  was  a  ruler  in  the  Church ; 
he  had  all  the  Puritanic  traits,  both  good  and  evil.  He  was 
likewise  a  bitter  persecutor,  as  witness  the  Quakers,  who  have 
remembered  him  in  their  histories,  and  relate  an  incident  of  his 
hard  severity  towards  a  woman  of  their  sect,  which  will  last 
longer,  it  is  to  be  feared,  than  any  record  of  his  better  deeds, 
although  these  were  many.  His  son,  too,  inherited  the  perse- 
cuting spirit,  and  made  himself  so  conspicuous  in  the  martyr- 
dom of  the  witches,  that  their  blood  may  fairly  be  said  to  have 
left  a  stain  upon  him.     So  deep   a   stain,   indeed,   that  his  old 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  9 

dry  bones,  in  the  Charter  Street  burial-ground,  must  still  retain 
it,  if  they  have  not  crumbled  utterly  to  dust !  I  know  not 
whether  these  ancestors  of  mine  bethought  themselves  to  repent, 
and  ask  pardon  of  Heaven  for  their  cruelties;  or  whether  they 
are  now  groaning  under  the  heavy  consequences  of  them,  in 
another  state  of  being.  At  all  events,  I,  the  present  writer, 
as  their  representative,  hereby  take  shame  upon  myself  for  their 
sakes,  and  pray  that  any  curse  incurred  by  them  —  as  I  have 
heard,  and  as  the  dreary  and  unprosperous  condition  of  the 
race,  for  many  a  long  year  back,  would  argue  to  exist  —  may 
be  now  and  henceforth  removed. 

Doubtless,  however,  either  of  these  stern  and  black-browed 
Puritans  would  have  thought  it  quite  a  sufficient  retribution  for 
his  sins,  that,  after  so  long  a  lapse  of  years,  the  old  trunk  of 
the  family  tree,  with  so  much  venerable  moss  upon  it,  should 
have  borne,  as  its  topmost  bough,  an  idler  like  myself.  No 
aim,  that  I  have  ever  cherished,  would  they  recognize  as  laud- 
able ;  no  success  of  mine  —  if  my  life,  beyond  its  domestic 
scope,  had  ever  been  brightened  by  success  —  would  they  deem 
otherwise  than  worthless,  if  not  positively  disgraceful.  "What 
is  he?"  murmurs  one  gray  shadow  of  my  forefathers  to  the 
other.  "  A  writer  of  story-books !  What  kind  of  a  business 
in  life  —  what  mode  of  glorifying  God,  or  being  serviceable  to 
mankind  in  his  day  and  generation  —  may  that  be?  Why,  the 
degenerate  fellow  might  as  well  have  been  a  fiddler ! "  Such 
are  the  compliments  bandied  between  my  great-grandsires  and 
myself,  across  the  gulf  of  time !  And  yet,  let  them  scorn  me 
as  they  will,  strong  traits  of  their  nature  have  intertwined  them- 
selves with  mine. 

Planted   deep,   in  the   town's   earliest   infancy   and   childhood, 


10  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

by  these  two  earnest  and  energetic  men,  the  race  has  ever  since 
subsisted  here;  always,  too,  in  respectability;  never,  so  far  as 
I  have  known,  disgraced  by  a  single  unworthy  member;  but 
seldom  or  never,  on  the  other  hand,  after  the  first  two  genera- 
tions, performing  any  memorable  deed,  or  so  much  as  putting 
forward  a  claim  to  public  notice.  Gradually,  they  have  sunk 
ahnost  out  of  sight;  as  old  houses,  here  and  there  about  the 
streets,  get  covered  half-way  to  the  eaves  by  the  accumulation 
of  new  soil.  From  father  to  son,  for  above  a  hundred  years, 
they  followed  the  sea;  a  gray-headed  shipmaster,  in  each  gen- 
eration, retiring  from  the  quarter-deck  to  the  homestead,  while 
a  boy  of  fourteen  took  the  hereditary  place  before  the  mast, 
confronting  the  salt  spray  and  the  gale,  which  had  blustered 
against  his  sire  and  grandsire.  The  boy,  also,  in  due  time, 
passed  from  the  forecastle  to  the  cabin,  spent  a  tempestuous 
manhood,  and  returned  from  his  world-wanderings,  to  grow  old, 
and  die,  and  mingle  his  dust  with  the  natal  earth.  This  long 
connection  of  a  family  with  one  spot,  as  its  place  of  birth  and 
burial,  creates  a  kindred  between  the  human  being  and  the 
locality,  quite  independent  of  any  charm  in  the  scenery  or  moral 
circumstances  that  surround  him.  It  is  not  love,  but  instinct. 
The  new  inhabitant  —  who  came  himself  from  a  foreign  land, 
or  whose  father  or  grandfather  came  —  has  little  claim  to  be 
called  a  Salemite;  he  has  no  conception  of  the  oyster-like  tena- 
city with  "which  an  old  settler,  over  whom  his  third  century  is 
creeping,  clings  to  the  spot  where  his  successive  generations  have 
been  imbedded.  It  is  no  matter  that  the  place  is  joyless  for 
him;  that  he  is  weary  of  the  old  wooden  houses,  the  mud  and 
dust,  the  dead  level  of  site  and  sentiment,  the  chill  east  wind, 
and  the  chillest   of  social  atmospheres ;  —  all  these,   and  what- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  H 

ever  faults  besides  he  may  see  or  imagine,  are  nothing  to  the 
purpose.  The  spell  survives,  and  just  as  powerfully  as  if  the 
natal  spot  were  an  earthly  paradise.  So  has  it  been  in  my  case. 
I  felt  it  almost  as  a  destiny  to  make  Salem  my  home;  so  that 
the  mould  of  features  and  cast  of  character  which  had  all  along 
been  familiar  here,  —  ever,  as  one  representative  of  the  race  lay 
down  in  his  grave,  another  assuming,  as  it  were,  his  sentry- 
march  along  the  main  street,  —  might  still  in  my  little  day  be 
seen  and  recognized  in  the  old  town.  Nevertheless,  this  very 
sentiment  is  an  evidence  that  the  connection,  which  has  become 
an  unhealthy  one,  should  at  last  be  severed.  Human  nature 
will  not  nourish,  any  more  than  a  potato,  if  it  be  planted  and 
replanted,  for  too  long  a  series  of  generations,  in  the  same  worn- 
out  soil.  My  children  have  had  other  birthplaces,  and,  so  far 
as  their  fortunes  may  be  within  my  control,  shall  strike  their 
roots  into  unaccustomed  earth. 

On  emerging  from  the  Old  Manse,  it  was  chiefly  this  strange, 
indolent,  unjoyous  attachment  for  my  native  town,  that  brought 
me  to  fill  a  place  in  Uncle  Sam's  brick  edifice,  when  I  might 
as  well,  or  better,  have  gone  somewhere  else.  My  doom  was 
on  me.  It  was  not  the  first  time,  nor  the  second,  that  I  had 
gone  away,  —  as  it  seemed,  permanently,  —  but  yet  returned, 
like  the  bad  half-penny;  or  as  if  Salem  were  for  me  the  inevi- 
table centre  of  the  universe.  So,  one  fine  morning,  I  ascended 
the  flight  of  granite  steps,  with  the  President's  commission  in 
my  pocket,  and  was  introduced  to  the  corps  of  gentlemen  who 
were  to  aid  me  in  my  weighty  responsibility,  as  chief  executive 
officer  of  the  Custom-House. 

I  doubt  greatly  —  or,  rather,  I  do  not  doubt  at  all  —  whether 
any  public  functionary  of  the  United  States,  either  in  the  civil 


12  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

or  military  line,  has  ever  had  such  a  patriarchal  body  of  vet- 
erans under  his  orders  as  myself.  The  whereabouts  of  the 
Oldest  Inhabitant  was  at  once  settled,  when  I  looked  at  them. 
For  upwards  of  twenty  years  before  this  epoch,  the  independent 
position  of  the  Collector  had  kept  the  Salem  Custom-House 
out  of  the  whirlpool  of  political  vicissitude,  which  makes  the 
tenure  of  office  generally  so  fragile.  A  soldier,  —  New  England's 
most  distinguished  soldier,  —  he  stood  firmly  on  the  pedestal  of 
his  gallant  services;  and,  himself  secure  in  the  wise  liberality 
of  the  successive  administrations  through  which  he  had  held 
office,  he  had  been  the  safety  of  his  subordinates  in  many  an 
hour  of  danger  and  heart-quake.  General  Miller  was  radically 
conservative;  a  man  over  whose  kindly  nature  habit  had  no 
slight  influence;  attaching  himself  strongly  to  familiar  faces,  and 
with  difficulty  moved  to  change,  even  when  change  might  have 
brought  unquestionable  improvement.  Thus,  on  taking  charge 
of  my  department,  I  found  few  but  aged  men.  They  were  an- 
cient sea-captains,  for  the  most  part,  who,  after  being  tost  on 
every  sea,  and  standing  up  sturdily  against  life's  tempestuous 
blasts,  had  finally  drifted  into  this  quiet  nook;  where,  with 
little  to  disturb  them,  except  the  periodical  terrors  of  a  Presi- 
dential election,  they  one  and  all  acquired  a  new  lease  of  exist- 
ence. Though  by  no  means  less  liable  than  their  fellow-men 
to  age  and  infirmity,  they  had  evidently  some  talisman  or  other 
that  kept  death  at  bay.  Two  or  three  of  their  number,  as  I 
was  assured,  being  gouty  and  rheumatic,  or  perhaps  bedridden, 
never  dreamed  of  making  their  appearance  at  the  Custom-House, 
during  a  large  part  of  the  year;  but,  after  a  torpid  winter, 
would  creep  out  into  the  warm  sunshine  of  May  or  June,  go 
lazily  about  what  they  termed  duty,  and,  at  their   own  leisure 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  13 

and  convenience,  betake  themselves  to  bed  again.  I  must  plead 
guilty  to  the  charge  of  abbreviating  the  official  breath  of  more 
than  one  of  these  venerable  servants  of  the  republic.  They  were 
allowed,  on  my  representation,  to  rest  from  their  arduous  labors, 
and  soon  afterwards  —  as  if  their  sole  principle  of  life  had  been 
zeal  for  their  country's  service,  as  I  verily  believe  it  was  — 
withdrew  to  a  better  world.  It  is  a  pious  consolation  to  me, 
that,  through  my  interference,  a  sufficient  space  was  allowed 
them  for  repentance  of  the  evil  and  corrupt  practices  into  which, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  every  Custom-House  officer  must  be  sup- 
posed to  fall.  Neither  the  front  nor  the  back  entrance  of  the 
Custom-House  opens  on  the  road  to  Paradise. 

The  greater  part  of  my  officers  were  Whigs.  It  was  well  for 
their  venerable  brotherhood  that  the  new  Surveyor  was  not  a 
politician,  and  though  a  faithful  Democrat  in  principle,  neither 
received  nor  held  his  office  with  any  reference  to  political  services. 
Had  it  been  otherwise,  —  had  an  active  politician  been  put  into 
this  influential  post,  to  assume  the  easy  task  of  making  head 
against  a  Whig  Collector,  whose  infirmities  withheld  him  from 
the  personal  administration  of  his  office,  —  hardly  a  man  of  the 
old  corps  would  have  drawn  the  breath  of  official  life,  within  a 
month  after  the  exterminating  angel  had  come  up  the  Custom- 
House  steps.  According  to  the  received  code  in  such  matters, 
it  would  have  been  nothing  short  of  duty,  in  a  politician,  to 
bring  every  one  of  those  white  heads  under  the  axe  of  the  guil- 
lotine. It  was  plain  enough  to  discern,  that  the  old  fellows 
dreaded  some  such  discourtesy  at  my  hands.  It  pained,  and  at 
the  same  time  amused  me,  to  behold  the  terrors  that  attended 
my  advent;  to  see  a  furrowed  cheek,  weather-beaten  by  half  a 
century  of  storm,  turn  ashy  pale  at  the  glance  of  so  harmless  an 


14  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

individual  as  myself;  to  detect,  as  one  or  another  addressed  me, 
the  tremor  of  a  voice,  which,  in  long-past  days,  had  been  wont 
to  bellow  through  a  speaking-trumpet,  hoarsely  enough  to  frighten 
Boreas  himself  to  silence.  They  knew,  these  excellent  old  persons, 
that,  by  all  established  rule,  —  and,  as  regarded  some  of  them, 
weighed  by  their  own  lack  of  efficiency  for  business, — they  ought 
to  have  given  place  to  younger  men,  more  orthodox  in  politics, 
and  altogether  fitter  than  themselves  to  serve  our  common  Uncle. 
I  knew  it  too,  but  could  never  quite  find  in  my  heart  to  act 
upon  the  knowledge.  Much  and  deservedly  to  my  own  discredit, 
therefore,  and  considerably  to  the  detriment  of  my  official  con- 
science, they  continued,  during  my  incumbency,  to  creep  about 
the  wharves,  and  loiter  up  and  down  the  Custom-House  steps. 
They  spent  a  good  deal  of  time,  also,  asleep  in  their  accustomed 
corners,  with  their  chairs  tilted  back  against  the  wall;  awaking, 
however,  once  or  twice  in  a  forenoon,  to  bore  one  another  with 
the  several  thousandth  repetition  of  old  sea-stories,  and  mouldy 
jokes,  that  had  grown  to  be  passwords  and  countersigns  among 
them. 

The  discovery  was  soon  made,  I  imagine,  that  the  new  Sur- 
veyor had  no  great  harm  in  him.  So,  with  lightsome  hearts, 
and  the  happy  consciousness  of  being  usefully  employed,  —  in 
their  own  behalf,  at  least,  if  not  for  our  beloved  country,  —  these 
good  old  gentlemen  went  through  the  various  formalities  of 
office.  Sagaciously,  under  their  spectacles,  did  they  peep  into 
the  holds  of  vessels !  Mighty  was  their  fuss  about  little  matters, 
and  marvellous,  sometimes,  the  obtuseness  that  allowed  greater 
ones  to  slip  between  their  fingers !  Whenever  such  a  mischance 
occurred,  —  when  a  wagon-load  of  valuable  merchandise  had 
been  smuggled  ashore,  at  noonday,  perhaps,  and  directly  beneath 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  15 

their  unsuspicious  noses,  —  nothing  could  exceed  the  vigilance 
and  alacrity  with  which  they  proceeded  to  lock,  and  double-lock, 
and  secure  with  tape  and  sealing-wax,  all  the  avenues  of  the 
delinquent  vessel.  Instead  of  a  reprimand  for  their  previous 
negligence,  the  case  seemed  rather  to  require  an  eulogium  on 
their  praiseworthy  caution,  after  the  mischief  had  happened;  a 
grateful  recognition  of  the  promptitude  of  their  zeal,  the  moment 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  remedy. 

Unless  people  are  more  than  commonly  disagreeable,  it  is  my 
foolish  habit  to  contract  a  kindness  for  them.  The  better  part 
of  my  companion's  character,  if  it  have  a  better  part,  is  that 
which  usually  comes  uppermost  in  my  regard,  and  forms  the 
type  whereby  I  recognize  the  man.  As  most  of  these  old  Cus- 
tom-House  officers  had  good  traits,  and  as  my  position  in  refer- 
ence to  them,  being  paternal  and  protective,  was  favorable  to 
the  growth  of  friendly  sentiments,  I  soon  grew  to  like  them 
all.  It  was  pleasant,  in  the  summer  forenoons,  —  when  the  fer- 
vent heat,  that  almost  liquefied  the  rest  of  the  human  family, 
merely  communicated  a  genial  warmth  to  their  half-torpid  sys- 
tems, —  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  them  chatting  in  the  back  entry, 
a  row  of  them  all  tipped  against  the  wall,  as  usual;  while  the 
frozen  witticisms  of  past  generations  were  thawed  out,  and  came 
bubbling  with  laughter  from  their  lips.  Externally,  the  jollity 
of  aged  men  has  much  in  common  with  the  mirth  of  children; 
the  intellect,  any  more  than  a  deep  sense  of  humor,  has  little 
to  do  with  the  matter;  it  is,  with  both,  a  gleam  that  plays  upon 
the  surface,  and  imparts  a  sunny  and  cheery  aspect  alike  to  the 
green  branch,  and  gray,  mouldering  trunk.  In  one  case,  how- 
ever, it  is  real  sunshine;  in  the  other,  it  more  resembles  the 
phosphorescent  glow  of  decaying  wood. 


16  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

It  would  be  sad  injustice,  the  reader  must  understand,  to  rep- 
resent all  my  excellent  old  friends  as  in  their  dotage.  In  the 
first  place,  my  coadjutors  were  not  invariably  old;  there  were 
men  among  them  in  their  strength  and  prime,  of  marked  ability 
and  energy,  and  altogether  superior  to  the  sluggish  and  depend- 
ent mode  of  life  on  which  their  evil  stars  had  cast  them.  Then, 
moreover,  the  white  locks  of  age  were  sometimes  found  to  be 
the  thatch  of  an  intellectual  tenement  in  good  repair.  But,  as 
respects  the  majority  of  my  corps  of  veterans,  there  will  be  no 
wrong  done,  if  I  characterize  them  generally  as  a  set  of  weari- 
some old  souls,  who  had  gathered  nothing  worth  preservation 
from  their  varied  experience  of  life.  They  seemed  to  have  flung 
away  all  the  golden  grain  of  practical  wisdom,  which  they  had 
enjoyed  so  many  opportunities  of  harvesting,  and  most  carefully 
to  have  stored  their  memories  with  the  husks.  They  spoke  with 
far  more  interest  and  unction  of  their  morning's  breakfast,  or 
yesterday's,  to-day's,  or  to-morrow's  dinner,  than  of  the  ship- 
wreck of  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  and  all  the  world's  wonders 
which  they  had  witnessed  with  their  youthful  eyes. 

The  father  of  the  Custom-House  —  the  patriarch,  not  only  of 
this  little  squad  of  officials,  but,  I  am  bold  to  say,  of  the  re- 
spectable body  of  tide-waiters  all  over  the  United  States  —  was  a 
certain  permanent  Inspector.  He  might  truly  be  termed  a  legiti- 
mate son  of  the  revenue  system,  dyed  in  the  wool,  or,  rather, 
born  in  the  purple;  since  his  sire,  a  Revolutionary  colonel,  and 
formerly  collector  of  the  port,  had  created  an  office  for  him,  and 
appointed  him  to  fill  it,  at  a  period  of  the  early  ages  which  few 
living  men  can  now  remember.  This  Inspector,  when  I  first 
knew  him,  was  a  man  of  fourscore  years,  or  thereabouts,  and 
certainly  one  of  the  most  wonderful  specimens  of  winter-green 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  17 

that  you  would  be  likely  to  discover  in  a  lifetime's  search.  With 
his  florid  cheek,  his  compact  figure,  smartly  arrayed  in  a  bright- 
buttoned  blue  coat,  his  brisk  and  vigorous  step,  and  his  hale 
and  hearty  aspect,  altogether  he  seemed  —  not  young,  indeed  — 
but  a  kind  of  new  contrivance  of  Mother  Nature  in  the  shape 
of  man,  whom  age  and  infirmity  had  no  business  to  touch.  His 
voice  and  laugh,  which  perpetually  re-echoed  through  the  Cus- 
tom-House,  had  nothing  of  the  tremulous  quaver  and  cackle  of 
an  old  man's  utterance;  they  came  strutting  out  of  his  lungs, 
like  the  crow  of  a  cock,  or  the  blast  of  a  clarion.  Looking  at 
him  merely  as  an  animal,  —  and  there  was  very  little  else  to 
look  at,  —  he  was  a  most  satisfactory  object,  from  the  thorough 
healthfulness  and  wholesomeness  of  his  system,  and  his  capacity, 
at  that  extreme  age,  to  enjoy  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  delights  which 
he  had  ever  aimed  at,  or  conceived  of.  The  careless  security  of 
his  life  in  the  Custom-House,  on  a  regular  income,  and  with  but 
slight  and  infrequent  apprehensions  of  removal,  had  no  doubt 
contributed  to  make  time  pass  lightly  over  him.  The  original 
and  more  potent  causes,  however,  lay  in  the  rare  perfection  of 
his  animal  nature,  the  moderate  proportion  of  intellect,  and  the 
very  trifling  admixture  of  moral  and  spiritual  ingredients;  these 
latter  qualities,  indeed,  being  in  barely  enough  measure  to  keep 
the  old  gentleman  from  walking  on  all-fours.  He  possessed  no 
power  of  thought,  no  depth  of  feeling,  no  troublesome  sensibil- 
ities ;  nothing,  in  short,  but  a  few  commonplace  instincts,  which, 
aided  by  the  cheerful  temper  that  grew  inevitably  out  of  his 
physical  well-being,  did  duty  very  respectably,  and  to  general 
acceptance,  in  lieu  of  a  heart.  He  had  been  the  husband  of 
three  wives,  all  long  since  dead;  the  father  of  twenty  children, 
most  of  whom,  at  every  age  of  childhood  or  maturity,  had  like- 


18  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

wise  returned  to  dust.  Here,  one  would  suppose,  might  have 
been  sorrow  enough  to  imbue  the  sunniest  disposition,  through 
and  through,  with  a  sable  tinge.  Not  so  with  our  old  Inspector ! 
One  brief  sigh  sufficed  to  carry  off  the  entire  burden  of  these 
dismal  reminiscences.  The  next  moment,  he  was  as  ready  for 
sport  as  any  unbreeched  infant;  far  readier  than  the  Collector's 
junior  clerk,  who,  at  nineteen  years,  was  much  the  elder  and 
graver  man  of  the  two. 

I  used  to  watch  and  study  this  patriarchal  personage  with,  I 
think,  livelier  curiosity,  than  any  other  form  of  humanity  there 
presented  to  my  notice.  He  was,  in  truth,  a  rare  phenomenon; 
so  perfect,  in  one  point  of  view;  so  shallow,  so  delusive,  so  im- 
palpable, such  an  absolute  nonentity,  in  every  other.  My  conclu- 
sion was  that  he  had  no  soul,  no  heart,  no  mind;  nothing,  as  I 
have  already  said,  but  instincts:  and  yet,  withal,  so  cunningly 
had  the  few  materials  of  his  character  been  put  together,  that 
there  was  no  painful  perception  of  deficiency,  but,  on  my  part, 
an  entire  contentment  with  what  I  found  in  him.  It  might 
be  difficult  —  and  it  was  so  —  to  conceive  how  he  should  exist 
hereafter,  so  earthly  and  sensuous  did  he  seem;  but  surely  his 
existence  here,  admitting  that  it  was  to  terminate  with  his  last 
breath,  had  been  not  unkindly  given;  with  no  higher  moral 
responsibilities  than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  but  with  a  larger 
scope  of  enjoyment  than  theirs,  and  with  all  their  blessed  im- 
munity from  the  dreariness  and  duskiness  of  age. 

One  point,  in  which  he  had  vastly  the  advantage  over  his 
four-footed  brethren,  was  his  ability  to  recollect  the  good  din- 
ners which  it  had  made  no  small  portion  of  the  happiness  of  his 
life  to  eat.  His  gourmandism  was  a  highly  agreeable  trait;  and 
to  hear  him  talk  of  roast-meat  was  as  appetizing  as  a  pickle  or 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  19 

an  oyster.  As  he  possessed  no  higher  attribute,  and  neither 
sacrificed  nor  vitiated  any  spiritual  endowment  by  devoting  all 
his  energies  and  ingenuities  to  subserve  the  delight  and  profit 
of  his  maw,  it  always  pleased  and  satisfied  me  to  hear  him 
expatiate  on  fish,  poultry,  and  butcher's  meat,  and  the  most 
eligible  methods  of  preparing  them  for  the  table.  His  reminis- 
cences of  good  cheer,  however  ancient  the  date  of  the  actual  ban- 
quet, seemed  to  bring  the  savor  of  pig  or  turkey  under  one's 
very  nostrils.  There  were  flavors  on  his  palate  that  had  lingered 
there  not  less  than  sixty  or  seventy  years,  and  were  still  appar- 
ently as  fresh  as  that  of  the  mutton-chop  which  he  had  just 
devoured  for  his  breakfast.  I  have  heard  him  smack  his  lips 
over  dinners,  every  guest  at  which,  except  himself,  had  long  been 
food  for  worms.  It  was  marvellous  to  observe  how  the  ghosts 
of  bygone  meals  were  continually  rising  up  before  him;  not  in 
anger  or  retribution,  but  as  if  grateful  for  his  former  apprecia- 
tion and  seeking  to  resuscitate  an  endless  series  of  enjoyment,  at 
once  shadowy  and  sensual.  A  tender-loin  of  beef,  a  hind-quarter 
of  veal,  a  spare-rib  of  pork,  a  particular  chicken,  or  a  remark- 
ably praiseworthy  turkey,  which  had  perhaps  adorned  his  board 
in  the  days  of  the  elder  Adams,  would  be  remembered;  while 
all  the  subsequent  experience  of  our  race,  and  all  the  events  that 
brightened  or  darkened  his  individual  career,  had  gone  over  him 
with  as  little  permanent  effect  as  the  passing  breeze.  The  chief 
tragic  event  of  the  old  man's  life,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was 
his  mishap  with  a  certain  goose  which  lived  and  died  some 
twenty  or  forty  years  ago;  a  goose  of  most  promising  figure, 
but  which,  at  table,  proved  so  inveterately  tough  that  the  carv- 
ing-knife would  make  no  impression  on  its  carcass,  and  it  could 
only  be  divided  with  an  axe  and  handsaw. 


20  THE    SCARLET   LETTEK. 

But  it  is  time  to  quit  this  sketch;  on  which,  however,  I 
should  be  glad  to  dwell  at  considerably  more  length  because,  of 
all  men  whom  I  have  ever  known,  this  individual  was  fittest  to 
be  a  Custom-House  officer.  Most  persons,  owing  to  causes  which 
I  may  not  have  space  to  hint  at,  suffer  moral  detriment  from 
this  peculiar  mode  of  life.  The  old  Inspector  was  incapable  of 
it,  and,  were  he  to  continue  in  office  to  the  end  of  time,  would 
be  just  as  good  as  he  was  then,  and  sit  down  to  dinner  with  just 
as  good  an  appetite. 

There  is  one  likeness,  without  which  my  gallery  of  Custom- 
House  portraits  would  be  strangely  incomplete;  but  which  my 
comparatively  few  opportunities  for  observation  enable  me  to 
sketch  only  in  the  merest  outline.  It  is  that  of  the  Collector, 
our  gallant  old  General,  who,  after  his  brilliant  military  service, 
subsequently  to  which  he  had  ruled  over  a  wild  Western  terri- 
tory, had  come  hither,  twenty  years  before,  to  spend  the  decline 
of  his  varied  and  honorable  life.  The  brave  soldier  had  already 
numbered,  nearly  or  quite,  his  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  was 
pursuing  the  remainder  of  his  earthly  march,  burdened  with  in- 
firmities which  even  the  martial  music  of  his  own  spirit-stirring 
recollections  could  do  little  towards  lightening.  The  step  was 
palsied  now  that  had  been  foremost  in  the  charge.  It  was  only 
with  the  assistance  of  a  servant,  and  by  leaning  his  hand  heavily 
on  the  iron  balustrade,  that  he  could  slowly  and  painfully  ascend 
the  Custom-House  steps,  and,  with  a  toilsome  progress  across 
the  floor,  attain  his  customary  chair  beside  the  fireplace.  There 
he  used  to  sit,  gazing  with  a  somewhat  dim  serenity  of  aspect 
at  the  figures  that  came  and  went;  amid  the  rustle  of  papers, 
the  administering  of  oaths,  the  discussion  of  business,  and  the 
casual  talk  of  the  office ;    all  which  sounds   and   circumstances 


THE    CUSTOM   HOUSE.  21 

seemed  but  indistinctly  to  impress  his  senses,  and  hardly  to  make 
their  way  into  his  iimer  sphere  of  contemplation.  His  counte- 
nance, in  this  repose,  was  mild  and  kindly.  If  his  notice  was 
sought,  an  expression  of  courtesy  and  interest  gleamed  out  upon 
his  features;  proving  that  there  was  light  within  him,  and  that 
it  was  only  the  outward  medium  of  the  intellectual  lamp  that 
obstructed  the  rays  in  their  passage.  The  closer  you  penetrated 
to  the  substance  of  his  mind,  the  sounder  it  appeared.  When 
no  longer  called  upon  to  speak,  or  listen,  either  of  which  opera- 
tions cost  him  an  evident  effort,  his  face  would  briefly  subside 
into  its  former  not  uncheerful  quietude.  It  was  not  painful  to 
behold  this  look;  for,  though  dim,  it  had  not  the  imbecility  of 
decaying  age.  The  framework  of  his  nature,  originally  strong 
and  massive,  was  not  yet  crumbled  into  ruin. 

To  observe  and  define  his  character,  however,  under  such  dis- 
advantages, was  as  difficult  a  task  as  to  trace  out  and  build  up 
anew,  in  imagination,  an  old  fortress,  like  Ticonderoga,  from 
a  view  of  its  gray  and  broken  ruins.  Here  and  there,  per- 
chance, the  walls  may  remain  almost  complete,  but  elsewhere 
may  be  only  a  shapeless  mound,  cumbrous  with  its  very  strength, 
and  overgrown,  through  long  years  of  peace  and  neglect,  with 
grass  and  alien  weeds. 

Nevertheless,  looking  at  the  old  warrior  with  affection,  —  for, 
slight  as  was  the  communication  between  us,  my  feeling  towards 
him,  like  that  of  all  bipeds  and  quadrupeds  who  knew  him, 
might  not  improperly  be  termed  so,  —  I  could  discern  the  main 
points  of  his  portrait.  It  was  marked  with  the  noble  and  he- 
roic qualities  which  showed  it  to  be  not  by  a  mere  accident, 
but  of  good  right,  that  he  had  won  a  distinguished  name.  His 
spirit  could  never,   I  conceive,   have   been  characterized  by  an 


22  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

uneasy  activity ;  it  must,  at  any  period  of  his  life,  have  required 
an  impulse  to  set  him  in  motion;  but,  once  stirred  up,  with 
obstacles  to  overcome,  and  an  adequate  object  to  be  attained, 
it  was  not  in  the  man  to  give  out  or  fail.  The  heat  that  had 
formerly  pervaded  his  nature,  and  which  was  not  yet  extinct, 
was  never  of  the  kind  that  flashes  and  flickers  in  a  blaze;  but, 
rather,  a  deep,  red  glow,  as  of  iron  in  a  furnace.  "Weight, 
solidity,  firmness;  this  was  the  expression  of  his  repose,  even 
in  such  decay  as  had  crept  untimely  over  him,  at  the  period 
of  which  I  speak.  But  I  could  imagine,  even  then,  that,  under 
some  excitement  which  should  go  deeply  into  his  consciousness, 

—  roused  by  a  trumpet-peal,  loud  enough  to  awaken  all  his 
energies  that  were  not  dead,  but  only  slumbering,  —  he  was 
yet  capable  of  flinging  off  his  infirmities  like  a  sick  man's  gown, 
dropping  the  staff  of  age  to  seize  a  battle-sword,  and  starting 
up  once  more  a  warrior.  And,  in  so  intense  a  moment,  his 
demeanor  would  have  still  been  calm.  Such  an  exhibition,  how- 
ever, was  but  to  be  pictured  in  fancy;  not  to  be  anticipated, 
nor  desired.  What  I  saw  in  him  —  as  evidently  as  the  inde- 
structible ramparts  of  Old  Ticonderoga  already  cited  as  the  most 
appropriate  simile  —  were  the  features  of  stubborn  and  ponder- 
ous endurance,  which  might  well  have  amounted  to  obstinacy 
in  his  earlier  days;  of  integrity,  that,  like  most  of  his  other 
endowments,  lay  in  a  somewhat  heavy  mass,  and  was  just  as 
unmalleable  and  unmanageable  as  a  ton  of  iron  ore;  and  of 
benevolence,  which,  fiercely  as  he  led  the  bayonets  on  at  Chip- 
pewa or  Fort  Erie,  I  take  to  be  of  quite  as  genuine  a  stamp 
as  what  actuates  any  or  all  the  polemical  philanthropists  of  the 
age.     He  had  slain  men  with  his  own  hand,  for  aught  I  know, 

—  certainly,   they  had  fallen,  like  blades  of  grass  at  the  sweep 


THE   CUSTOM-HOUSE.  23 

of  the  scythe,  before  the  charge  to  which  his  spirit  imparted  its 
triumphant  energy ;  —  but,  be  that  as  it  might,  there  was  never 
in  his  heart  so  much  cruelty  as  would  have  brushed  the  down 
off  a  butterfly's  wing.  I  have  not  known  the  man  to  whose 
innate  kindliness  I  would   more  confidently  make  an   appeal. 

Many  characteristics  —  and  those,  too,  which  contribute  not 
the  least  forcibly  to  impart  resemblance  in  a  sketch  —  must  have 
vanished,  or  been  obscured,  before  I  met  the  General. .  All 
merely  graceful  attributes  are  usually  the  most  evanescent;  nor 
does  Nature  adorn  the  human  ruin  with  blossoms  of  new  beauty, 
that  have  their  roots  and  proper  nutriment  only  in  the  chinks 
and  crevices  of  decay,  as  she  sows  wall-flowers  over  the  ruined 
fortress  of  Ticonderoga.  Still,  even  in  respect  of  grace  and 
beauty,  there  were  points  well  worth  noting.  A  ray  of  humor, 
now  and  then,  would  make  its  way  through  the  veil  of  dim 
obstruction,  and  glimmer  pleasantly  upon  our  faces.  A  trait  of 
native  elegance,  seldom  seen  in  the  masculine  character  after 
childhood  or  early  youth,  was  shown  in  the  General's  fondness 
for  the  sight  and  fragrance  of  flowers.  An  old  soldier  might 
be  supposed  to  prize  only  the  bloody  laurel  on  his  brow;  but 
here  was  one  who  seemed  to  have  a  young  girl's  appreciation 
of  the  floral  tribe. 

There,  beside  the  fireplace,  the  brave  old  General  used  to  sit; 
while  the  Surveyor  —  though  seldom,  when  it  could  be  avoided, 
taking  upon  himself  the  difficult  task  of  engaging  him  in  con- 
versation—  was  fond  of  standing  at  a  distance,  and  watching 
his  quiet  and  almost  slumberous  countenance.  He  seemed  away 
from  us,  although  we  saw  him  but  a  few  yards  off;  remote, 
though  we  passed  close  beside  his  chair;  unattainable,  though 
we  might  have  stretched  forth  our  hands  and  touched  his  own. 


24  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

It  might  be  that  he  lived  a  more  real  life  within  his  thoughts, 
than  amid  the  unappropriate  environment  of  the  Collector's  office. 
The  evolutions  of  the  parade ;  the  tumult  of  the  battle ;  the  flour- 
ish of  old,  heroic  music,  heard  thirty  years  before ;  —  such  scenes 
and  sounds,  perhaps,  were  all  alive  before  his  intellectual  sense. 
Meanwhile,  the  merchants  and  shipmasters,  the  spruce  clerks 
and  uncouth  sailors,  entered  and  departed;  the  bustle  of  this 
commercial  and  custom-house  life  kept  up  its  little  murmur 
round  about  him;  and  neither  with  the  men  nor  their  affairs 
did  the  General  appear  to  sustain  the  most  distant  relation.  He 
was  as  much  out  of  place  as  an  old  sword  —  now  rusty,  but 
which  had  flashed  once  in  the  battle's  front,  and  showed  still 
a  bright  gleam  along  its  blade  —  would  have  been,  among  the 
inkstands,  paper-folders,  and  mahogany  rulers,  on  the  Deputy 
Collector's  desk. 

There  was  one  thing  that  much  aided  me  in  renewing  and 
re-creating  the  stalwart  soldier  of  the  Niagara  frontier,  —  the 
man  of  true  and  simple  energy.  It  was  the  recollection  of  those 
memorable  words  of  his,  —  "I  '11  try,  Sir!"  —  spoken  on  the 
very  verge  of  a  desperate  and  heroic  enterprise,  and  breathing 
the  soul  and  spirit  of  New  England  hardihood,  comprehending 
all  perils,  and  encountering  all.  If,  in  our  country,  valor  were 
rewarded  by  heraldic  honor,  this  phrase  — which  it  seems  so 
easy  to  speak,  but  which  only  he,  with  such  a  task  of  danger 
and  glory  before  him,  has  ever  spoken  — would  be  the  best  and 
fittest  of  all  mottoes  for  the  General's  shield  of  arms. 

It  contributes  greatly  towards  a  man's  moral  and  intellectual 
health,  to  be  brought  into  habits  of  companionship  with  indi- 
viduals unlike  himself,  who  care  little  for  his  pursuits,  and  whose 
sphere   and  abilities   he  must   go   out  of  himself  to  appreciate. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  25 

The  accidents  of  my  life  have  often  afforded  me  this  advantage, 
but  never  with  more  fulness  and  variety  than  during  my  con- 
tinuance in  office.  There  was  one  man,  especially,  the  observa- 
tion of  whose  character  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  talent.  His 
gifts  were  emphatically  those  of  a  man  of  business;  prompt, 
acute,  clear-minded;  with  an  eye  that  saw  through  all  perplex- 
ities, and  a  faculty  of  arrangement  that  made  them  vanish,  as 
by  the  waving  of  an  enchanter's  wand.  Bred  up  from  boyhood 
in  the  Custom-House,  it  was  his  proper  field  of  activity;  and 
the  many  intricacies  of  business,  so  harassing  to  the  interloper, 
presented  themselves  before  him  with  the  regularity  of  a  per- 
fectly comprehended  system.  In  my  contemplation,  he  stood 
as  the  ideal  of  his  class.  He  was,  indeed,  the  Custom-House 
in  himself;  or,  at  all  events,  the  main-spring  that  kept  its  vari- 
ously revolving  wheels  in  motion;  for,  in  an  institution  like 
this,  where  its  officers  are  appointed  to  subserve  their  own  profit 
and  convenience,  and  seldom  with  a  leading  reference  to  their 
fitness  for  the  duty  to  be  performed,  they  must  perforce  seek 
elsewhere  the  dexterity  which  is  not  in  them.  Thus,  by  an 
inevitable  necessity,  as  a  magnet  attracts  steel-filings,  so  did  our 
man  of  business  draw  to  himself  the  difficulties  which  everybody 
met  with.  With  an  easy  condescension,  and  kind  forbearance 
towards  our  stupidity,  —  which,  to  his  order  of  mind,  must  have 
seemed  little  short  of  crime,  —  would  he  forthwith,  by  the  merest 
touch  of  his  finger,  make  the  incomprehensible  as  clear  as  day- 
light. The  merchants  valued  him  not  less  than  we,  his  esoteric 
friends.  His  integrity  was  perfect :  it  was  a  law  of  nature  with 
him,  rather  than  a  choice  or  a  principle;  nor  can  it  be  other- 
wise than  the  main  condition  of  an  intellect  so  remarkably 
clear  and   accurate  as  his,  to  be  honest  and  regular  in  the  ad- 


26  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

ministration  of  affairs.  A  stain  on  his  conscience,  as  to  any- 
thing that  came  within  the  range  of  his  vocation,  would  trouble 
such  a  man  very  much  in  the  same  way,  though  to  a  far 
greater  degree,  that  an  error  in  the  balance  of  an  account  or 
an  ink-blot  on  the  fair  page  of  a  book  of  record.  Here,  in  a 
word,  —  and  it  is  a  rare  instance  in  my  life,  —  I  had  met  with 
a  person  thoroughly  adapted  to  the  situation  which  he  held. 

Such  were  some  of  the  people  with  whom  I  now  found  myself 
connected.  I  took  it  in  good  part,  at  the  hands  of  Providence, 
that  I  was  thrown  into  a  position  so  little  akin  to  my  past 
habits,  and  set  myself  seriously  to  gather  from  it  whatever  profit 
was  to  be  had.  After  my  fellowship  of  toil  and  impracticable 
schemes  with  the  dreamy  brethren  of  Brook  Farm;  after  living 
for  three  years  within  the  subtile  influence  of  an  intellect  like 
Emerson's;  after  those  wild,  free  days  on  the  Assabeth,  indulg- 
ing fantastic  speculations,  beside  our  fire  of  fallen  boughs,  with 
Ellery  Channing ;  after  talking  with  Thoreau  about  pine-trees 
and  Indian  relics,  in  his  hermitage  at  Walden;  after  growing 
fastidious  by  sympathy  with  the  classic  refinement  of  Hillard's 
culture;  after  becoming  imbued  with  poetic  sentiment  at  Long- 
fellow's hearthstone;  —  it  was  time,  at  length,  that  I  should 
exercise  other  faculties  of  my  nature,  and  nourish  myself  with 
food  for  which  I  had  hitherto  had  little  appetite.  Even  the  old 
Inspector  was  desirable,  as  a  change  of  diet,  to  a  man  who  had 
known  Alcott.  I  look  upon  it  as  an  evidence,  in  some  measure, 
of  a  system  naturally  well  balanced,  and  lacking  no  essential  part  of 
a  thorough  organization,  that,  with  such  associates  to  remember, 
I  could  mingle  at  once  -with  men  of  altogether  different  qualities, 
and  never  murmur  at  the  change. 

Literature,  its  exertions  and   objects,  were  now   of  little  mo- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  27 

ment  in  my  regard.  I  cared  not,  at  this  period,  for  books ; 
they  Mere  apart  from  me.  Nature,  —  except  it  were  human 
nature,  —  the  nature  that  is  developed  in  earth  and  sky,  was,  in 
one  sense,  hidden  from  me;  and  all  the  imaginative  delight, 
wherewith  it  had  been  spiritualized,  passed  away  out  of  my 
mind.  A  gift,  a  faculty  if  it  had  not  departed,  was  suspended 
and  inanimate  within  me.  There  would  have  been  something 
sad,  unutterably  dreary,  in.  all  this,  had  I  not  been  conscious 
that  it  lay  at  my  own  option  to  recall  whatever  was  valuable  in 
the  past.  It  might  be  true,  indeed,  that  this  was  a  life  which 
could  not  with  impunity  be  lived  too  long;  else,  it  might  have 
made  me  pennanently  other  than  I  had  been  without  transform- 
ing me  into  any  shape  which  it  would  be  worth  my  while  to 
take.  But  I  never  considered  it  as  other  than  a  transitory  life. 
There  was  always  a  prophetic  instinct,  a  low  whisper  in  my  ear, 
that,  within  no  long  period,  and  whenever  a  new  change  of  cus- 
tom should  be  essential  to  my  good,  a  change  would  come. 

Meanwhile,  there  I  was,  a  Surveyor  of  the  Bevenue,  and,  so 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  understand,  as  good  a  Surveyor  as 
need  be.  A  man  of  thought,  fancy,  and  sensibility  (had  he  ten 
times  the  Surveyor's  proportion  of  those  qualities)  may,  at  any 
time,  be  a  man  of  affairs,  if  he  will  only  choose  to  give  himself 
the  trouble.  My  fellow-officers,  and  the  merchants  and  sea-cap- 
tains with  whom  my  official  duties  brought  me  into  any  manner 
of  connection,  viewed  me  in  no  other  light,  and  probably  knew 
me  in  no  other  character.  None  of  them,  I  presume,  had  ever 
read  a  page  of  my  inditing,  or  would  have  cared  a  fig  the  more 
for  me,  if  they  had  read  them  all;  nor  would  it  have  mended 
the  matter,  in  the  least,  had  those  same  unprofitable  pages  been 
written  with  a  pen  like  that  of  Burns  or  of  Chaucer,  each  of 


28  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

whom  was  a  custom-house  officer  in  his  day,  as  well  as  I.  It 
is  a  good  lesson  —  though  it  may  often  be  a  hard  one  —  for  a 
man  who  has  dreamed  of  literary  fame,  and  of  making  for  him- 
self a  rank  among  the  world's  dignitaries  by  such  means,  to 
step  aside  out  of  the  narrow  circle  in  which  his  claims  are  rec- 
ognized, and  to  find  how  utterly  devoid  of  significance,  beyond 
that  circle,  is  all  that  he  achieves,  and  all  he  aims  at.  I  know 
not  that  I  especially  needed  the  lesson,  either  in  the  way  of 
warning  or  rebuke ;  but,  at  any  rate,  I  learned  it  thoroughly : 
nor,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  reflect,  did  the  truth,  as  it  came 
home  to  my  perception,  ever  cost  me  a  pang,  or  require  to  be 
thrown  off  in  a  sigh.  In  the  way  of  literary  talk,  it  is  true, 
the  Naval  Officer  —  an  excellent  fellow,  who  came  into  office 
with  me  and  went  out  only  a  little  later  —  would  often  engage 
me  in  a  discussion  about  one  or  the  other  of  his  favorite  topics, 
Napoleon  or  Shakespeare.  The  Collector's  junior  clerk,  too  —  a 
young  gentleman  who,  it  was  whispered,  occasionally  covered 
a  sheet  of  Uncle  Sam's  letter-paper  with  what  (at  the  distance 
of  a  few  yards)  looked  very  much  like  poetry  —  used  now  and 
then  to  speak  to  me  of  books,  as  matters  with  which  I  might 
possibly  be  conversant.  This  was  my  all  of  lettered  intercourse; 
and  it  was  quite  sufficient  for  my  necessities. 

No  longer  seeking  nor  caring  that  my  name  should  be  bla- 
zoned abroad  on  title-pages,  I  smiled  to  think  that  it  had  now 
another  kind  of  vogue.  The  Custom-House  marker  imprinted  it, 
with  a  stencil  and  black  paint,  on  pepper-bags,  and  baskets  of 
anatto,  and  cigar-boxes,  and  bales  of  all  kinds  of  dutiable  mer- 
chandise, in  testimony  that  these  commodities  had  paid  the  im- 
post, and  gone  regularly  through  the  office.  Borne  on  such 
queer  vehicle  of  fame,  a  knowledge  of  my  existence,  so  far  as  a 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  29 

name  conveys  it,  was  carried   where   it  had  never  been  before, 
and,  I  hope,  will  never  go  again. 

But  the  past  was  not  dead.  Once  in  a  great  while  the 
thoughts  that  had  seemed  so  vital  and  so  active,  yet  had  been 
put  to  rest  so  quietly,  revived  again.  One  of  the  most  remark- 
able occasions,  when  the  habit  of  bygone  days  awoke  in  me, 
was  that  which  brings  it  within  the  law  of  literary  propriety  to 
offer  the  public  the  sketch  which  I  am  now  writing. 

In  the  second  story  of  the  Custom-House  there  is  a  large 
room,  in  which  the  brick-work  and  naked  rafters  have  never 
been  covered  with  panelling  and  plaster.  The  edifice  —  origi- 
nally projected  on  a  scale  adapted  to  the  old  commercial  enter- 
prise of  the  port,  and  with  an  idea  of  subsequent  prosperity  des- 
tined never  to  be  realized  —  contains  far  more  space  than  its 
occupants  know  what  to  do  with.  This  airy  hall,  therefore,  over 
the  Collector's  apartments,  remains  unfinished  to  this  day,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  aged  cobwebs  that  festoon  its  dusky  beams,  ap- 
pears still  to  await  the  labor  of  the  carpenter  and  mason.  At 
one  end  of  the  room,  in  a  recess,  were  a  number  of  barrels,  piled 
one  upon  another,  containing  bundles  of  official  documents.  Large 
quantities  of  similar  rubbish  lay  lumbering  the  floor.  It  was 
sorrowful  to  think  how  many  days  and  weeks  and  months  and 
years  of  toil  had  been  wasted  on  these  musty  papers,  which  were 
now  only  an  encumbrance  on  earth,  and  were  hidden  away  in 
this  forgotten  corner,  never  more  to  be  glanced  at  by  human  eyes. 
But,  then,  what  reams  of  other  manuscripts  —  filled  not  with  the 
dulness  of  official  formalities,  but  with  the  thought  of  inventive 
brains  and  the  rich  effusion  of  deep  hearts  —  had  gone  equally  to 
oblivion ;  and  that,  moreover,  without  serving  a  purpose  in  their 
day,  as  these  heaped-up  papers  had,  and  —  saddest  of  all  —  with- 


30  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

out  purchasing  for  their  writers  the  comfortable  livelihood  which 
the  clerks  of  the  Custom-House  had  gained  by  these  worthless 
scratchings  of  the  pen!  Yet  not  altogether  worthless,  perhaps, 
as  materials  of  local  history.  Here,  no  doubt,  statistics  of  the 
former  commerce  of  Salem  might  be  discovered,  and  memorials 
of  her  princely  merchants,  —  old  King  Derby,  old  Billy  Gray, 
old  Simon  Forrester,  and  many  another  magnate  in  his  day; 
whose  powdered  head,  however,  was  scarcely  in  the  tomb,  before 
his  mountain  pile  of  wealth  began  to  dwindle.  The  founders  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  families  which  now  compose  the  aristoc- 
racy of  Salem  might  here  be  traced,  from  the  petty  and  obscure 
beginnings  of  their  traffic,  at  periods  generally  much  posterior  to 
the  Revolution,  upward  to  what  their  children  look  upon  as  long- 
established  rank. 

Prior  to  the  Revolution  there  is  a  dearth  of  records;  the 
earlier  documents  and  archives  of  the  Custom-House  having, 
probably,  been  carried  off  to  Halifax,  when  all  the  King's  officials 
accompanied  the  British  army  in  its  flight  from  Boston.  It  has 
often  been  a  matter  of  regret  with  me ;  for,  going  back,  perhaps, 
to  the  days  of  the  Protectorate,  those  papers  must  have  con- 
tained many  references  to  forgotten  or  remembered  men,  and  to 
antique  customs,  which  would  have  affected  me  with  the  same 
pleasure  as  when  I  used  to  pick  up  Indian  arrow-heads  in  the 
field  near  the  Old  Manse. 

But,  one  idle  and  rainy  day,  it  was  my  fortune  to  make  a  dis- 
covery of  some  little  interest.  Poking  and  burrowing  into  the 
heaped-up  rubbish  in  the  corner ;  unfolding  one  and  another 
document,  and  reading  the  names  of  vessels  that  had  long  ago 
foundered  at  sea  or  rotted  at  the  wharves,  and  those  of  mer- 
chants, never  heard  of  now  on  'Change,  nor  very  readily  decipher- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  31 

able  on  their  mossy  tombstones;  glancing  at  such  matters  with 
the  saddened,  weary,  half-reluctant  interest  which  we  bestow  on 
the  corpse  of  dead  activity,  —  and  exerting  my  fancy,  sluggish 
with  little  use,  to  raise  up  from  these  dry  bones  an  image  of 
the  old  town's  brighter  aspect,  when  India  was  a  new  region, 
and  only  Salem  knew  the  way  thither,  —  I  chanced  to  lay  my 
hand  on  a  small  package,  carefully  done  up  in  a  piece  of  an- 
cient yellow  parchment.  This  envelope  had  the  air  of  an  official 
record  of  some  period  long  past,  when  clerks  engrossed  their 
stiff  and  formal  chirography  on  more  substantial  materials  than 
at  present.  There  was  something  about  it  that  quickened  an 
instinctive  curiosity,  and  made  me  undo  the  faded  red  tape,  that 
tied  up  the  package,  with  the  sense  that  a  treasure  would  here 
be  brought  to  light.  Unbending  the  rigid  folds  of  the  parch- 
ment cover,  I  found  it  to  be  a  commission,  under  the  hand  and  seal 
of  Governor  Shirley,  in  favor  of  one  Jonathan  Pue,  as  Surveyor 
of  his  Majesty's  Customs  for  the  port  of  Salem,  in  the  Province 
of  Massachusetts  Bay.  I  remember  to  have  read  (probably  in 
Felt's  Annals)  a  notice  of  the  decease  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue, 
about  fourscore  years  ago ;  and  likewise,  in  a  newspaper  of  recent 
times,  an  account  of  the  digging  up  of  his  remains  in  the  little 
graveyard  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  during  the  renewal  of  that 
edifice.  Nothing,  if  I  rightly  call  to  mind,  was  left  of  my 
respected  predecessor,  save  an  imperfect  skeleton,  and  some  frag- 
ments of  apparel,  and  a  wig  of  majestic  frizzle;  which,  unlike 
the  head  that  it  once  adorned,  was  in  very  satisfactory  preserva- 
tion. But,  on  examining  the  papers  which  the  parchment  com- 
mission served  to  envelop,  I  found  more  traces  of  Mr.  Pue's 
mental  part,  and  the  internal  operations  of  his  head,  than  the 
frizzled  wiff  had  contained  of  the  venerable  skull  itself. 


32  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

They  were  documents,  in  short,  not  official,  but  of  a  private 
nature,  or  at  least  written  in  his  private  capacity,  and  appar- 
ently with  his  own  hand.  I  could  account  for  their  being  in- 
cluded in  the  heap  of  Custom-House  lumber  only  by  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Pue's  death  had  happened  suddenly;  and  that  these 
papers,  which  he  probably  kept  in  his  official  desk,  had  never 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  his  heirs,  or  were  supposed  to  relate 
to  the  business  of  the  revenue.  On  the  transfer  of  the  archives 
to  Halifax,  this  package,  proving  to  be  of  no  public  concern, 
was  left  behind,  and  had  remained  ever  since  unopened. 

The  ancient  Surveyor  —  being  little  molested,  I  suppose,  at 
that  early  day,  with  business  pertaining  to  his  office  —  seems 
to  have  devoted  some  of  his  many  leisure  hours  to  researches 
as  a  local  antiquarian,  and  other  inquisitions  of  a  similar  nature. 
These  supplied  material  for  petty  activity  to  a  mind  that  would 
otherwise  have  been  eaten  up  with  rust.  A  portion  of  his  facts, 
by  the  by,  did  me  good  service  in  the  preparation  of  the  article 
entitled  "  Main  Street,"  included  in  the  present  volume.  The 
remainder  may  perhaps  be  applied  to  purposes  equally  valu- 
able, hereafter;  or  not  impossibly  may  be  worked  up,  so  far  as 
they  go,  into  a  regular  history  of  Salem,  should  my  veneration 
for  the  natal  soil  ever  impel  me  to  so  pious  a  task.  Meanwhile, 
they  shall  be  at  the  command  of  any  gentleman,  inclined,  and 
competent,  to  take  the  unprofitable  labor  off  my  hands.  As  a 
final  disposition,  I  contemplate  depositing  them  with  the  Essex 
Historical  Society. 

But  the  object  that  most  drew  my  attention,  in  the  mysterious 
package,  was  a  certain  affair  of  fine  red  cloth,  much  worn  and 
faded.  There  were  traces  about  it  of  gold  embroidery,  which, 
however,  was  greatly  frayed  and  defaced;   so  that  none,  or  very 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  33 

little,  of  the  glitter  was  left.  It  had  been  wrought,  as  was  easy 
to  perceive,  with  wonderful  skill  of  needlework;  and  the  stitch 
(as  I  am  assured  by  ladies  conversant  with  such  mysteries)  gives 
evidence  of  a  now  forgotten  art,  not  to  be  recovered  even  by 
the  process  of  picking  out  the  threads.  This  rag  of  scarlet 
cloth,  —  for  time  and  wear  and  a  sacrilegious  moth  had  reduced 
it  to  little  other  than  a  rag,  —  on  careful  examination,  assumed 
the  shape  of  a  letter.  It  was  the  capital  letter  A.  By  an  accu- 
rate measurement,  each  limb  proved  to  be  precisely  three  inches 
and  a  quarter  in  length.  It  had  been  intended,  there  could  be 
no  doubt,  as  an  ornamental  article  of  dress;  but  how  it  was  to 
be  worn,  or  what  rank,  honor,  and  dignity,  in  by-past  times, 
were  signified  by  it,  was  a  riddle  which  (so  evanescent  are  the 
fashions  of  the  world  in  these  particulars)  I  saw  little  hope  of 
solving.  And  yet  it  strangely  interested  me.  My  eyes  fastened 
themselves  upon  the  old  scarlet  letter,  and  would  not  be  turned 
aside.  Certainly,  there  was  some  deep  meaning  in  it,  most  worthy 
of  interpretation,  and  which,  as  it  were,  streamed  forth  from 
the  mystic  symbol,  subtly  communicating  itself  to  my  sensibili- 
ties, but  evading  the  analysis  of  my  mind. 

While  thus  perplexed,  —  and  cogitating,  among  other  hypoth- 
eses, whether  the  letter  might  not  have  been  one  of  those  deco- 
rations which  the  white  men  used  to  contrive,  in  order  to  take 
the  eyes  of  Indians,  —  I  happened  to  place  it  on  my  breast. 
It  seemed  to  me,  —  the  reader  may  smile,  but  must  not  doubt 
my  word,  —  it  seemed  to  me,  then,  that  I  experienced  a  sensa- 
tion not  altogether  physical,  yet  almost  so,  of  burning  heat; 
and  as  if  the  letter  were  not  of  red  cloth,  but  red-hot  iron.  I 
shuddered,  and  involuntarily  let  it  fall  upon  the  floor. 

In  the   absorbing  contemplation  of  the   scarlet  letter,   I  had 


34  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

hitherto  neglected  to  examine  a  small  roll  of  clingy  paper,  around 
which  it  had  been  twisted.  This  I  now  opened,  and  had  the 
satisfaction  to  find,  recorded  by  the  old  Surveyor's  pen,  a  rea- 
sonably complete  explanation  of  the  whole  affair.  There  were 
several  foolscap  sheets  containing  many  particulars  respecting  the 
life  and  conversation  of  one  Hester  Prynne,  who  appeared  to  have 
been  rather  a  noteworthy  personage  in  the  view  of  our  ances- 
tors. She  had  flourished  during  the  period  between  the  early 
days  of  Massachusetts  and  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Aged  persons,  alive  in  the  time  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  and  from 
whose  oral  testimony  he  had  made  up  his  narrative,  remembered 
her,  in  their  youth,  as  a  very  old,  but  not  decrepit  woman,  of 
a  stately  and  solemn  aspect.  It  had  been  her  habit,  from  an 
almost  immemorial  date,  to  go  about  the  country  as  a  kind  of 
voluntary  nurse,  and  doing  whatever  miscellaneous  good  she 
might;  taking  upon  herself,  likewise,  to  give  advice  in  all  mat- 
ters, especially  those  of  the  heart;  by  which  means,  as  a  person 
of  such  propensities  inevitably  must,  she  gained  from  many  peo- 
ple the  reverence  due  to  an  angel,  but,  I  should  imagine,  was 
looked  upon  by  others  as  an  intruder  and  a  nuisance.  Prying 
further  into  the  manuscript,  I  found  the  record  of  other  doings 
and  sufferings  of  this  singular  woman,  for  most  of  which  the 
reader  is  referred  to  the  story  entitled  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  " ; 
and  it  should  be  borne  carefully  in  mind,  that  the  main  facts 
of  that  story  are  authorized  and  authenticated  by  the  document 
of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue.  The  original  papers,  together  with  the 
scarlet  letter  itself,  —  a  most  curious  relic,  —  are  still  in  my  pos- 
session, and  shall  be  freely  exhibited  to  whomsoever,  induced 
by  the  great  interest  of  the  narrative,  may  desire  a  sight  of 
them.     I  must  not  be  understood  as  affirming,  that,  in  the  dress- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  35 

ing  up  of  the  tale,  and  imagining  the  motives  and  modes  of 
passion  that  influenced  the  characters  who  figure  in  it,  I  have 
invariably  confined  myself  within  the  limits  of  the  old  Surveyor's 
half  a  dozen  sheets  of  foolscap.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  allowed 
myself,  as  to  such  points,  nearly  or  altogether  as  much  license 
as  if  the  facts  had  been  entirely  of  my  own  invention.  What 
I  contend  for  is  the  authenticity  of  the  outline. 

This  incident  recalled  my  mind,  in  some  degree,  to  its  old 
track.  There  seemed  to  be  here  the  groundwork  of  a  tale.  It 
impressed  me  as  if  the  ancient  Surveyor,  in  his  garb  of  a  hun- 
dred years  gone  by,  and  wearing  his  immortal  wig,  —  which 
was  buried  with  him,  but  did  not  perish  in  the  grave,  —  had 
met  me  in  the  deserted  chamber  of  the  Custom-House.  In  his 
port  was  the  dignity  of  one  who  had  borne  his  Majesty's  com- 
mission, and  who  was  therefore  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  the  splen- 
dor that  shone  so  dazzlingly  about  the  throne.  How  unlike, 
alas !  the  hang-dog  look  of  a  republican  official,  who,  as  the 
servant  of  the  people,  feels  himself  less  than  the  least,  and  below 
the  lowest,  of  his  masters.  "With  his  own  ghostly  hand,  the 
obscurely  seen  but  majestic  figure  had  imparted  to  me  the  scar- 
let symbol,  and  the  little  roll  of  explanatory  manuscript.  With 
his  own  ghostly  voice,  he  had  exhorted  me,  on  the  sacred  con- 
sideration of  my  filial  duty  and  reverence  towards  him,  —  who 
might  reasonably  regard  himself  as  my  official  ancestor, — to 
bring  his  mouldy  and  moth-eaten  lucubrations  before  the  public. 
"Do  this/'  said  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  emphatically 
nodding  the  head  that  looked  so  imposing  within  its  memor- 
able wig, — "do  this,  and  the  profit  shall  be  all  your  own! 
You  will  shortly  need  it;  for  it  is  not  in  your  days  as  it  was 
in  mine,  when  a  man's   office  was  a  life-lease,  and   oftentimes 


36  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

an  heirloom.  But,  I  charge  you,  in  this  matter  of  old  Mistress 
Prynne,  give  to  jour  predecessor's  memory  the  credit  which  will 
be  rightfully  due ! "  And  I  said  to  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor 
Pue,  "I  will!" 

On  Hester  Prynne's  story,  therefore,  I  bestowed  much  thought. 
It  was  the  subject  of  my  meditations  for  many  an  hour,  while 
pacing  to  and  fro  across  my  room,  or  traversing,  with  a  hun- 
dred-fold repetition,  the  long  extent  from  the  front-door  of  the 
Custom-House  to  the  side-entrance,  and  back  again.  Great  were 
the  weariness  and  annoyance  of  the  old  Inspector  and  the  Weigh- 
ers and  Gaugers,  whose  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  the  unmer- 
cifully lengthened  tramp  of  my  passing  and  returning  footsteps. 
Remembering  their  own  former  habits,  they  used  to  say  that 
the  Surveyor  was  walking  the  quarter-deck.  They  probably 
fancied  that  my  sole  object  —  and,  indeed,  the  sole  object  for 
which  a  sane  man  could  ever  put  himself  into  voluntary  mo- 
tion—  was,  to  get  an  appetite  for  dinner.  And  to  say  the 
truth,  an  appetite,  sharpened  by  the  east  wind  that  generally 
blew  along  the  passage,  was  the  only  valuable  result  of  so  much 
indefatigable  exercise.  So  little  adapted  is  the  atmosphere  of 
a  custom-house  to  the  delicate  harvest  of  fancy  and  sensibil- 
ity, that,  had  I  remained  there  through  ten  Presidencies  yet  to 
come,  I  doubt  whether  the  tale  of  "The  Scarlet  Letter"  would 
ever  have  been  brought  before  the  public  eye.  My  imagination 
was  a  tarnished  mirror.  It  would  not  reflect,  or  only  with  mis- 
erable dimness,  the  figures  with  which  I  did  my  best  to  people 
it.  The  characters  of  the  narrative  would  not  be  warmed  and 
rendered  malleable  by  any  heat  that  I  could  kindle  at  my  intel- 
lectual forge.  They  would  take  neither  the  glow  of  passion  nor 
the  tenderness  of  sentiment,  but  retained  all  the  rigidity  of  dead 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  37 

corpses,  and  stared  me  in  the  face  with  a  fixed  and  ghastly  grin 
of  contemptuous  defiance.  "  What  have  you  to  do  with  us  ? " 
that  expression  seemed  to  say.  "The  little  power  you  might 
once  have  possessed  over  the  tribe  of  unrealities  is  gone !  You 
have  bartered  it  for  a  pittance  of  the  public  gold.  Go,  then, 
and  earn  your  wages ! "  In  short,  the  almost  torpid  creatures 
of  my  own  fancy  twitted  me  with  imbecility,  and  not  without 
fair  occasion. 

It  was  not  merely  during  the  three  hours  and  a  half  which 
Uncle  Sam  claimed  as  his  share  of  my  daily  life,  that  this 
wretched  numbness  held  possession  of  me.  It  went  with  me 
on  my  sea-shore  walks,  and  rambles  into  the  country,  when- 
ever —  which  was  seldom  and  reluctantly  —  I  bestirred  myself 
to  seek  that  invigorating  charm  of  Nature,  which  used  to  give 
me  such  freshness  and  activity  of  thought  the  moment  that  I 
stepped  across  the  threshold  of  the  Old  Manse.  The  same  tor- 
por, as  regarded  the  capacity  for  intellectual  effort,  accompanied 
me  home,  and  weighed  upon  me  in  the  chamber  which  I  most 
absurdly  termed  my  study.  Nor  did  it  quit  me,  when,  late 
at  night,  I  sat  in  the  deserted  parlor,  lighted  only  by  the 
glimmering  coal-fire  and  the  moon,  striving  to  picture  forth 
imaginary  scenes,  which,  the  next  day,  might  flow  out  on  the 
brightening  page  in  many-hued  description. 

If  the  imaginative  faculty  refused  to  act  at  such  an  hour,  it 
might  well  be  deemed  a  hopeless  case.  Moonlight,  in  a  familiar 
room,  falling  so  white  upon  the  carpet,  and  showing  all  its  figures 
so  distinctly,  —  making  every  object  so  minutely  visible,  yet  so 
unlike  a  morning  or  noontide  visibility,  —  is  a  medium  the  most 
suitable  for  a  romance-writer  to  get  acquainted  with  his  illusive 
guests.     There  is  the  little  domestic  scenery  of  the  well-known 


38  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

apartment;  the  chairs,  with  each  its  separate  individuality;  the 
centre-table,  sustaining  a  work-basket,  a  volume  or  two,  and  an 
extinguished  lamp;  the  sofa;  the  bookcase;  the  picture  on  the 
wall;  —  all  these  details,  so  completely  seen,  are  so  spiritualized 
by  the  unusual  light,  that  they  seem  to  lose  their  actual  sub- 
stance, and  become  tilings  of  intellect.  Nothing  is  too  small  or 
too  trifling  to  undergo  this  change,  and  acquire  dignity  thereby. 
A  child's  shoe;  the  doll,  seated  in  her  little  wicker  carriage; 
the  hobby-horse ;  —  whatever,  in  a  word,  has  been  used  or  played 
with,  during  the  day,  is  now  invested  with  a  quality  of  strange- 
ness and  remoteness,  though  still  almost  as  vividly  present  as 
by  daylight.  Thus,  therefore,  the  floor  of  our  familiar  room  has 
become  a  neutral  territory,  somewhere  between  the  real  world 
and  fairy-land,  where  the  Actual  and  the  Imaginary  may  meet, 
and  each  imbue  itself  with  the  nature  of  the  other.  Ghosts  might 
enter  here,  without  affrighting  us.  It  would  be  too  much  in 
keeping  with  the  scene  to  excite  surprise,  were  we  to  look  about 
us  and  discover  a  form  beloved,  but  gone  hence,  now  sitting 
quietly  in  a  streak  of  this  magic  moonshine,  with  an  aspect  that 
would  make  us  doubt  whether  it  had  returned  from  afar,  or  had 
never  once  stirred  from  our  fireside. 

The  somewhat  dim  coal-fire  has  an  essential  influence  in  pro- 
ducing  the  effect  which  I  would  describe.  It  throws  its  unob- 
trusive tinge  throughout  the  room,  with  a  faint  ruddiness  upon 
the  walls  and  ceiling,  and  a  reflected  gleam  from  the  polish  of  the 
furniture.  This  warmer  light  mingles  itself  with  the  cold  spirit- 
uality of  the  moonbeams,  and  communicates,  as  it  were,  a  heart 
and  sensibilities  of  human  tenderness  to  the  forms  which  fancy 
summons  up.  It  converts  them  from  snow-images  into  men  and 
women.     Glancing  at  the  looking-glass,  we  behold  —  deep  within 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  39 

its  haunted  verge  —  the  smouldering  glow  of  the  half-extinguished 
anthracite,  the  white  moonbeams  on  the  floor,  and  a  repetition 
of  all  the  gleam  and  shadow  of  the  picture,  with  one  remove 
further  from  the  actual,  and  nearer  to  the  imaginative.  Then, 
at  such  an  hour,  and  with  this  scene  before  him,  if  a  man,  sitting 
all  alone,  cannot  dream  strange  things,  and  make  them  look  like 
truth,  lie  need  never  try  to  write  romances. 

But,  for  myself,  during  the  whole  of  my  Custom-House  expe- 
rience, moonlight  and  sunshine,  and  the  glow  of  firelight,  were 
just  alike  in  my  regard;  and  neither  of  them  was  of  one  whit 
more  avail  than  the  twinkle  of  a  tallow-candle.  An  entire  class 
of  susceptibilities,  and  a  gift  connected  with  them,  —  of  no  great 
richness  or  value,  but  the  best  I  had,  —  was  gone  from  me. 

It  is  my  belief,  however,  that,  had  I  attempted  a  different  order 
of  composition,  my  faculties  would  not  have  been  found  so  point- 
less and  inefficacious.  I  might,  for  instance,  have  contented  my- 
self with  writing  out  the  narratives  of  a  veteran  shipmaster,  one 
of  the  Inspectors,  whom  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  not  to  men- 
tion, since  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  stir  me  to  laugh- 
ter and  admiration  by  his  marvellous  gifts  as  a  story-teller. 
Could  I  have  preserved  the  picturesque  force  of  his  style,  and 
the  humorous  coloring  which  nature  taught  him  how  to  throw 
over  his  descriptions,  the  result,  I  honestly  believe,  would  have 
been  something  new  in  literature.  Or  I  might  readily  have  found 
a  more  serious  task.  It  was  a  folly,  with  the  materiality  of  this 
daily  life  pressing  so  intrusively  upon  me,  to  attempt  to  fling 
myself  back  into  another  age;  or  to  insist  on  creating  the  sem- 
blance of  a  world  out  of  airy  matter,  when,  at  every  moment, 
the  impalpable  beauty  of  my  soap-bubble  was  broken  by  the 
rude  contact  of  some  actual  circumstance.     The  wiser  effort  would 


40  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

have  been,  to  diffuse  thought  and  imagination  through  the  opaque 
substance  of  to-day,  and  thus  to  make  it  a  bright  transparency; 
to  spiritualize  the  burden  that  began  to  weigh  so  heavily;  to 
seek,  resolutely,  the  true  and  indestructible  value  that  lay  hidden 
in  the  petty  and  wearisome  incidents,  and  ordinary  characters, 
with  which  I  was  now  conversant.  The  fault  was  mine.  The 
page  of  life  that  was  spread  out  before  me  seemed  dull  and  com- 
monplace, only  because  I  had  not  fathomed  its  deeper  import. 
A  better  book  than  I  shall  ever  write  was  there;  leaf  after  leaf 
presenting  itself  to  me,  just  as  it  was  written  out  by  the  reality 
of  the  flitting  hour,  and  vanishing  as  fast  as  written,  only  because 
my  brain  wanted  the  insight  and  my  hand  the  cunning  to  tran- 
scribe it.  At  some  future  day,  it  may  be,  I  shall  remember  a 
few  scattered  fragments  and  broken  paragraphs,  and  write  them 
down,  and  find  the  letters  turn  to  gold  upon  the  page. 

These  perceptions  have  come  too  late.  At  the  instant,  I  was 
only  conscious  that  what  would  have  been  a  pleasure  once  was 
now  a  hopeless  toil.  There  was  no  occasion  to  make  much  moan 
about  this  state  of  affairs.  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  writer  of  toler- 
ably poor  tales  and  essays,  and  had  become  a  tolerably  good 
Surveyor  of  the  Customs.  That  was  all.  But,  nevertheless,  it 
is  anything  but  agreeable  to  be  haunted  by  a  suspicion  that 
one's  intellect  is  dwindling  away ;  or  exhaling,  without  your  con- 
sciousness, like  ether  out  of  a  phial ;  so  that,  at  every  glance,  you 
find  a  smaller  and  less  volatile  residuum.  Of  the  fact  there 
could  be  no  doubt;  and,  examining  myself  and  others,  I  was 
led  to  conclusions,  in  reference  to  the  effect  of  public  office  on 
the  character,  not  very  favorable  to  the  mode  of  life  in  question. 
In  some  other  form,  perhaps,  I  may  hereafter  develop  these 
effects.     Suffice  it  here  to  say,  that  a  Custom-House  officer,  of 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  41 

long  continuance,  can  hardly  be  a  very  praiseworthy  or  respect- 
able personage,  for  many  reasons;  one  of  them,  the  tenure  by 
which  he  holds  his  situation,  and  another,  the  very  nature  of  his 
business,  which  —  though,  I  trust,  an  honest  one  —  is  of  such  a 
sort  that  he  does  not  share  in  the  united  effort  of  mankind. 

An  effect  —  which  I  believe  to  be  observable,  more  or  less,  in 
every  individual  who  has  occupied  the  position  —  is,  that,  while 
he  leans  on  the  mighty  arm  of  the  Republic,  his  own  proper 
strength  departs  from  him.  He  loses,  in  an  extent  proportioned 
to  the  weakness  or  force  of  his  original  nature,  the  capability  of 
self-support.  If  he  possess  an  unusual  share  of  native  energy, 
or  the  enervating  magic  of  place  do  not  operate  too  long  upon 
him,  his  forfeited  powers  may  be  redeemable.  The  ejected  officer 
—  fortunate  in  the  unkindly  shove  that  sends  him  forth  betimes, 
to  struggle  amid  a  struggling  world — may  return  to  himself, 
and  become  all  that  he  has  ever  been.  But  this  seldom  happens. 
He  usually  keeps  his  ground  just  long  enough  for  his  own  ruin, 
and  is  then  thrust  out,  with  sinews  all  unstrung,  to  totter  along 
the  difficult  footpath  of  life  as  he  best  may.  Conscious  of  his 
own  infirmity,  —  that  his  tempered  steel  and  elasticity  are  lost, — 
he  forever  afterwards  looks  wistfully  about  him  in  quest  of  sup- 
port external  to  himself.  His  pervading  and  continual  hope  — 
a  hallucination  which,  in  the  face  of  all  discouragement,  and 
making  light  of  impossibilities,  haunts  him  while  he  lives,  and, 
I  fancy,  like  the  convulsive  throes  of  the  cholera,  torments  him 
for  a  brief  space  after  death  —  is,  that  finally,  and  in  no  long 
time,  by  some  happy  coincidence  of  circumstances,  he  shall  be 
restored  to  office.  This  faith,  more  than  anything  else,  steals 
the  pith  and  availability  out  of  whatever  enterprise  he  may  dream 
of  undertaking.     Why  should   he  toil  and  moil,  and  be  at   so 


42  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

much  trouble  to  pick  himself  up  out  of  the  mud,  when,  in  a 
little  while  hence,  the  strong  arm  of  his  Uncle  will  raise  and 
support  him?  Why  should  he  work  for  his  living  here,  or  go 
to  dig  gold  in  California,  when  he  is  so  soon  to  be  made  happy, 
at  monthly  intervals,  with  a  little  pile  of  glittering  coin  out  of 
his  Uncle's  pocket?  It  is  sadly  curious  to  observe  how  slight 
a  taste  of  office  suffices  to  infect  a  poor  fellow  with  this  singular 
disease.  Uncle  Sam's  gold  —  meaning  no  disrespect  to  the  wor- 
thy old  gentleman  —  has,  in  this  respect,  a  quality  of  enchant- 
ment like  that  of  the  Devil's  wages.  Whoever  touches  it  should 
look  well  to  himself,  or  he  may  find  the  bargain  to  go  hard 
against  him,  involving,  if  not  his  soul,  yet  many  of  its  better 
attributes;  its  sturdy  force,  its  courage  and  constancy,  its  truth, 
its  self-reliance,  and  all  that  gives  the  emphasis  to  manly  char- 
acter. 

Here  was  a  fine  prospect  in  the  distance !  Not  that  the  Sur- 
veyor brought  the  lesson  home  to  himself,  or  admitted  that  he 
could  be  so  utterly  undone,  either  by  continuance  in  office,  or 
ejectment.  Yet  my  reflections  were  not  the  most  comfortable. 
I  began  to  grow  melancholy  and  restless;  continually  prying 
into  my  mind,  to  discover  which  of  its  poor  properties  Avere 
gone,  and  what  degree  of  detriment  had  already  accrued  to  the 
remainder.  I  endeavored  to  calculate  how  much  longer  I  could 
stay  in  the  Custom-House,  and  yet  go  forth  a  man.  To  confess 
the  truth,  it  was  my  greatest  apprehension,  —  as  it  would  never 
be  a  measure  of  policy  to  turn  out  so  quiet  an  individual  as 
myself,  and  it  being  hardly  in  the  nature  of  a  public  officer  to 
resign,  —  it  was  my  chief  trouble,  therefore,  that  I  was  likely 
to  grow  gray  and  decrepit  in  the  Surveyorship,  and  become 
much  such  another  animal  as  the  old  Inspector.     Might  it  not, 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  43 

in  the  tedious  lapse  of  official  life  that  lay  before  me,  finally  be 
with  me  as  it  was  with  this  venerable  friend,  —  to  make  the 
dinner-hour  the  nucleus  of  the  day,  and  to  spend  the  rest  of 
it,  as  an  old  dog  spends  it,  asleep  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the 
shade?  A  dreary  look-forward  this,  for  a  man  who  felt  it  to 
be  the  best  definition  of  happiness  to  live  throughout  the  whole 
range  of  his  faculties  and  sensibilities !  But,  all  this  while,  I 
was  giving  myself  very  unnecessary  alarm.  Providence  had 
meditated  better  things  for  me  than  I  could  possibly  imagine 
for  myself. 

A  remarkable  event  of  the  third  year  of  my  Surveyorship  — 
to  adopt  the  tone  of  "  P.  P."  —  was  the  election  of  General 
Taylor  to  the  Presidency.  It  is  essential,  in  order  to  a  complete 
estimate  of  the  advantages  of  official  life,  to  view  the  incumbent 
at  the  incoming  of  a  hostile  administration.  His  position  is  then 
one  of  the  most  singularly  irksome,  and,  in  every  contingency, 
disagreeable,  that  a  wretched  mortal  can  possibly  occupy;  with 
seldom  an  alternative  of  good,  on  either  hand,  although  what 
presents  itself  to  him  as  the  worst  event  may  very  probably  be 
the  best.  But  it  is  a  strange  experience,  to  a  man  of  pride 
and  sensibility,  to  know  that  his  interests  are  within  the  control 
of  individuals  who  neither  love  nor  understand  him,  and  by 
whom,  since  one  or  the  other  must  needs  happen,  he  would 
rather  be  injured  than  obliged.  Strange,  too,  for  one  who  has 
kept  his  calmness  throughout  the  contest,  to  observe  the  blood- 
thirstiness  that  is  developed  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  and  to  be 
conscious  that  he  is  himself  among  its  objects !  There  are  few 
uglier  traits  of  human  nature  than  this  tendency  —  which  I  now 
witnessed  in  men  no  worse  than  their  neighbors  —  to  grow  cruel, 
merely  because  they  possessed  the  power  of  inflicting  harm.     If 


44  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

the  guillotine,  as  applied  to  office-holders,  were  a  literal  fact 
instead  of  one  of  the  most  apt  of  metaphors,  it  is  my  sincere 
belief  that  the  active  members  of  the  victorious  party  were  suf- 
ficiently excited  to  have  chopped  off  all  our  heads,  and  have 
thanked  Heaven  for  the  opportunity !  It  appears  to  me  —  who 
have  been  a  calm  and  curious  observer,  as  well  in  victory  as 
defeat  —  that  this  fierce  and  bitter  spirit  of  malice  and  revenge 
has  never  distinguished  the  many  triumphs  of  my  own  party  as 
it  now  did  that  of  the  Whigs.  The  Democrats  take  the  offices, 
as  a  general  rule,  because  they  need  them,  and  because  the  prac- 
tice of  many  years  has  made  it  the  law  of  political  warfare, 
which,  unless  a  different  system  be  proclaimed,  it  were  weakness 
and  cowardice  to  murmur  at.  But  the  long  habit  of  victory 
has  made  them  generous.  They  know  how  to  spare,  when  they 
see  occasion ;  and  when  they  strike,  the  axe  may  be  sharp,  indeed, 
but  its  edge  is  seldom  poisoned  with  ill-will;  nor  is  it  their 
custom  ignominiously  to  kick  the  head  which  they  have  just 
struck  off. 

In  short,  unpleasant  as  was  my  predicament,  at  best,  I  saw 
much  reason  to  congratulate  myself  that  I  was  on  the  losing 
side,  rather  than  the  triumphant  one.  If,  heretofore,  I  had  been 
none  of  the  warmest  of  partisans,  I  began  now,  at  this  season 
of  peril  and  adversity,  to  be  pretty  acutely  sensible  with  which 
party  my  predilections  lay;  nor  was  it  without  something  like 
regret  and  shame,  that,  according  to  a  reasonable  calculation  of 
chances,  I  saw  my  own  prospect  of  retaining  office  to  be  better 
than  those  of  my  Democratic  brethren.  But  who  can  see  an 
inch  into  futurity,  beyond  his  nose?  My  own  head  was  the 
first  that  fell ! 

The  moment  when  a  man's  head  drops  off  is  seldom  or  never, 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  45 

I  am  inclined  to  think,  precisely  the  most  agreeable  of  his  life. 
Nevertheless,  like  the  greater  part  of  our  misfortunes,  even  so 
serious  a  contingency  brings  its  remedy  and  consolation  with  it, 
if  the  sufferer  will  but  make  the  best,  rather  than  the  worst, 
of  the  accident  which  has  befallen  him.  In  my  particular  case, 
the  consolatory  topics  were  close  at  hand,  and,  indeed,  had  sug- 
gested themselves  to  my  meditations  a  considerable  time  before 
it  was  requisite  to  use  them.  In  view  of  my  previous  weariness 
of  office,  and  vague  thoughts  of  resignation,  my  fortune  some- 
what resembled  that  of  a  person  who  should  entertain  an  idea 
of  committing  suicide,  and,  although  beyond  his  hopes,  meet 
with  the  good  hap  to  be  murdered.  In  the  Custom-House,  as 
before  in  the  Old  Manse,  I  had  spent  three  years;  a  term  long 
enough  to  rest  a  weary  brain;  long  enough  to  break  off  old 
intellectual  habits,  and  make  room  for  new  ones ;  long  enough, 
and  too  long,  to  have  lived  in  an  unnatural  state,  doing  what 
was  really  of  no  advantage  nor  delight  to  any  human  being,  and 
withholding  myself  from  toil  that  would,  at  least,  have  stilled 
an  unquiet  impulse  in  me.  Then,  moreover,  as  regarded  his 
unceremonious  ejectment,  the  late  Surveyor  was  not  altogether 
ill-pleased  to  be  recognized  by  the  Whigs  as  an  enemy;  since 
his  inactivity  in  political  affairs  —  his  tendency  to  roam,  at  will, 
in  that  broad  and  quiet  field  where  all  mankind  may  meet,  rather 
than  confine  himself  to  those  narrow  paths  where  brethren  of  the 
same  household  must  diverge  from  one  another  —  had  sometimes 
made  it  questionable  with  his  brother  Democrats  whether  he  was 
a  friend.  Now,  after  he  had  won  the  crown  of  martyrdom  (though 
with  no  longer  a  head  to  wear  it  on),  the  point  might  be  looked 
upon  as  settled.  Finally,  little  heroic  as  he  was,  it  seemed  more 
decorous   to   be   overthrown  in  the  downfall   of  the   party  with 


46  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

which  he  had  been  content  to  stand,  than  to  remain  a  forlorn 
survivor,  when  so  many  worthier  men  were  falling;  and,  at  last, 
after  subsisting  for  four  years  on  the  mercy  of  a  hostile  admin- 
istration, to  be  compelled  then  to  define  his  position  anew,  and 
claim  the  yet  more  humiliating  mercy  of  a  friendly  one. 

Meanwhile  the  press  had  taken  up  my  affair,  and  kept  me, 
for  a  week  or  two,  careering  through  the  public  prints,  in  my 
decapitated  state,  like  Irving' s  Headless  Horseman;  ghastly  and 
grim,  and  longing  to  be  buried,  as  a  politically  dead  man  ought. 
So  much  for  my  figurative  self.  The  real  human  being,  all  this 
time,  with  his  head  safely  on  his  shoulders,  had  brought  himself 
to  the  comfortable  conclusion  that  everything  was  for  the  best; 
and,  making  an  investment  in  ink,  paper,  and  steel-pens,  had 
opened  his  long-disused  writing-desk,  and  was  again  a  literary 
man. 

Now  it  was  that  the  lucubrations  of  my  ancient  predecessor, 
Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  came  into  play.  Busty  through  long  idle- 
ness, some  little  space  was  requisite  before  my  intellectual  ma- 
chinery could  be  brought  to  work  upon  the  tale,  with  an  effect 
in  any  degree  satisfactory.  Even  yet,  though  my  thoughts  were 
ultimately  much  absorbed  in  the  task,  it  wears,  to  my  eye,  a 
stern  and  sombre  aspect;  too  much  un gladdened  by  genial  sun- 
shine; too  little  relieved  by  the  tender  and  familiar  influences 
which  soften  almost  every  scene  of  nature  and  real  life,  and, 
undoubtedly,  should  soften  every  picture  of  them.  This  uncap- 
tivating  effect  is  perhaps  due  to  the  period  of  hardly  accomplished 
revolution,  and  still  seething  turmoil,  in  which  the  story  shaped 
itself.  It  is  no  indication,  however,  of  a  lack  of  cheerfulness 
in  the  writer's  mind ;  for  he  was  happier,  while  straying  through 
the  gloom  of  these  sunless  fantasies,  than  at  any  time  since  he 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  47 

had  quitted  the  Old  Manse.  Some  of  the  briefer  articles,  which 
contribute  to  make  up  the  volume,  have  likewise  been  written 
since  my  involuntary  withdrawal  from  the  toils  and  honors  of 
public  life,  and  the  remainder  are  gleaned  from  annuals  and  mag- 
azines of  such  antique  date  that  they  have  gone  round  the  circle, 
and  come  back  to  novelty  again*  Keeping  up  the  metaphor  of 
the  political  guillotine,  the  whole  may  be  considered  as  the  Post- 
humous Papers  of  a  Decapitated  Surveyor;  and  the  sketch 
which  I  am  now  bringing  to  a  close,  if  too  autobiographical  for 
a  modest  person  to  publish  in  his  lifetime,  will  readily  be  ex- 
cused in  a  gentleman  who  writes  from  beyond  the  grave.  Peace 
be  with  all  the  world!  My  blessing  on  my  friends!  My  for- 
giveness to  my  enemies!     For  I  am  in  the  realm  of  quiet! 

The  life  of  the  Custom-House  lies  like  a  dream  behind  me. 
The  old  Inspector,  —  who,  by  the  by,  I  regret  to  say,  was  over- 
thrown and  killed  by  a  horse,  some  time  ago;  else  he  would 
certainly  have  lived  forever,  —  he,  and  all  those  other  venerable 
personages  who  sat  with  him  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  are  but 
•shadows  in  my  view;  white-headed  and  wrinkled  images,  which 
my  fancy  used  to  sport  with,  and  has  now  flung  aside  forever. 
The  merchants,  —  Pingree,  Phillips,  Shepard,  Upton,  Kimball, 
Bertram,  Hunt,  —  these,  and  many  other  names,  which  had  such 
a  classic  familiarity  for  my  ear  six  months  ago,  —  these  men  of 
traffic,  who  seemed  to  occupy  so  important  a  position  in  the 
world,  —  how  little  time  has  it  required  to  disconnect  me  from 
them  all,  not  merely  in  act,  but  recollection !  It  is  with  an  effort 
that  I  recall  the  figures  and  appellations  of  these  few.      Soon, 

*  At  the  time  of  writing  this  article  the  author  intended  to  puhlish,  along  with 
"  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  several  shorter  tales  and  sketches.  These  it  has  been  thought 
advisable  to  defer. 


48  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

likewise,  my  old  native  town  will  loom  upon  me  through  the 
haze  of  memory,  a  mist  brooding  over  and  around  it;  as  if  it 
were  no  portion  of  the  real  earth,  but  an  overgrown  village  in 
cloud-land,  with  only  imaginary  inhabitants  to  people  its  wooden 
houses,  and  walk  its  homely  lanes,  and  the  unpicturesque  prolixity 
of  its  main  street.  Henceforth  it  ceases  to  be  a  reality  of  my 
life.  I  am  a  citizen  of  somewhere  else.  My  good  towns-people 
will  not  much  regret  me;  for  —  though  it  has  been  as  dear  an 
object  as  any,  in  my  literary  efforts,  to  be  of  some  importance 
in  their  eyes,  and  to  win  myself  a  pleasant  memory  in  this  abode 
and  burial-place  of  so  many  of  my  forefathers  —  there  has  never 
been,  for  me,  the  genial  atmosphere  which  a  literary  man  requires, 
in  order  to  ripen  the  best  harvest  of  his  mind.  I  shall  do  better 
amongst  other  faces;  and  these  familiar  ones,  it  need  hardly  be 
said,  will  do  just  as  well  without  me. 

It  may  be,  however,  —  0,  transporting  and  triumphant  thought ! 
—  that  the  great-grandchildren  of  the  present  race  may  sometimes 
think  kindly  of  the  scribbler  of  bygone  days,  when  the  antiquary 
of  days  to  come,  among  the  sites  memorable  in  the  town's  his- 
tory, shall  point  out  the  locality  of  The  Town  Pump! 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


THE    PRISON-DOOR. 

'  A  THRONG  of  bearded  men, 
in  sad-colored  garments,  and 
gray,  steeple-crowned  hats,  in- 
termixed with  women,  some 
wearing  hoods  and  others 
bareheaded,  was  assembled  in 
front  of  a  wooden  edifice,  the 
door  of  which  was  heavily 
timbered  with  oak,  and  stud- 
ded with  iron  spikes. 

The  founders  of  a  new  col- 
ony, whatever  Utopia  of  human  virtue  and  happiness  they  might 
originally  project,  have  invariably  recognized  it  among  their  earli- 
est practical  necessities  to  allot  a  portion  of  the  virgin  soil  as  a 
cemetery,  and  another  portion  as  the  site  of  a  prison.  In  accord- 
ance with  this  rule,  it  may  safely  be  assumed  that  the  forefathers 


52  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  Boston  had  built  the  first  prison-house  somewhere  in  the  vicinity 
of  Cornhill,  almost  as  seasonably  as  they  marked  out  the  first  burial- 
ground,  on  Isaac  Johnson's  lot,  and  round  about  his  grave,  which 
subsequently  became  the  nucleus  of  all  the  congregated  sepul- 
chres in  the  old  churchyard  of  King's  Chapel.  Certain  it  is,  that, 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  after  the  settlement  of  the  town,  the 
wooden  jail  was  already  marked  with  weather-stains  and  other 
indications  of  age,  which  gave  a  yet  darker  aspect  to  its  beetle- 
browed  and  gloomy  front.  The  rust  on  the  ponderous  iron-work 
of  its  oaken  door  looked  more  antique  than  anything  else  in  the 
New  World.  Like  all  that  pertains  to  crime,  it  seemed  never  to 
have  known  a  youthful  era.  Before  this  ugly  edifice,  and  between 
it  and  the  wheel-track  of  the  street,  was  a  grass-plot,  much  over- 
grown with  burdock,  pigweed,  apple-peru,  and  such  unsightly 
vegetation,  which  evidently  found  something  congenial  in  the  soil 
that  had  so  early  borne  the  black  flower  of  civilized  society,  a 
prison.  But  on  one  side  of  the  portal,  and  rooted  almost  at  the 
threshold,  was  a  wild  rose-bush,  covered,  in  this  month  of  June, 
with  its  delicate  gems,  which  might  be  imagined  to  offer  their 
fragrance  and  fragile  beauty  to  the  prisoner  as  he  went  in,  and  to 
the  condemned  criminal  as  he  came  forth  to  his  doom,  in  token 
that  the  deep  heart  of  Nature  could  pity  and  be  kind  to  him. 

This  rose-bush,  by  a  strange  chance,  has  been  kept  alive  in  his- 
tory; but  whether  it  had  merely  survived  out  of  the  stern  old 
wilderness,  so  long  after  the  fall  of  the  gigantic  pines  and  oaks 
that  originally  overshadowed  it,  —  or  whether,  as  there  is  fair 
authority  for  believing,  it  had  sprung  up  under  the  footsteps 
of  the  sainted  Ann  Hutchinson,  as  she  entered  the  prison-door, 
—  we  shall  not  take  upon  us  to  determine.  Finding  it  so  di- 
rectly on  the  threshold  of  our  narrative,  which  is  now  about  to 


THE    PRISON-DOOR. 


53 


issue  from  that  inauspicious  portal,  we  could  hardly  do  other- 
wise than  pluck  one  of  its  flowers,  and  present  it  to  the  reader. 
It  may  serve,  let  us  hope,  to  symbolize  some  sweet  moral  blos- 
som, that  may  be  found  along  the  track,  or  relieve  the  darken- 
ing close  of  a  tale  of  human  frailty  and  sorrow. 


II. 


THE   MARKET-PLACE. 


HE  grass-plot  before  the  jail,  in  Prison  Lane, 
on  a  certain  summer  morning,  not  less  than 
two  centuries  ago,  was  occupied  by  a  pretty 
large  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  Boston; 
all  with  their  eyes  intently  fastened  on  the 
iron-clamped  oaken  door.  Amongst  any 
other  population,  or  at  a  later  period  in  the  history  of  New  Eng- 
land, the  grim  rigidity  that  petrified  the  bearded  physiognomies 
of  these  good  people  would  have  augured  some  awful  business 
in  hand.  It  could  have  betokened  nothing  short  of  the  antici- 
pated execution  of  some  noted  culprit,  on  whom  the  sentence 
of  a  legal  tribunal  had  but  confirmed  the  verdict  of  public  senti- 
ment. But,  in  that  early  severity  of  the  Puritan  character,  an 
inference  of  this  kind  could  not  so  indubitably  be  drawn.  It 
might  be  that  a  sluggish  bond-servant,  or  an  undutiful  child, 
whom  his  parents  had  given  over  to  the  civil  authority,  was  to 
be  corrected  at  the  whipping-post.  It  might  be,  that  an  Anti- 
nomian,  a  Quaker,  or  other  heterodox  religionist  was  to  be 
scourged  out  of  the  town,  or  an  idle  and  vagrant  Indian,  whom 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  55 

the  white  man's  fire-water  had  made  riotous  about  the  streets, 
was  to  be  driven  with  stripes  into  the  shadow  of  the  forest.  It 
might  be,  too,  that  a  witch,  like  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the 
bitter-tempered  widow  of  the  magistrate,  was  to  die  upon  the 
gallows.  In  either  case,  there  was  very  much  the  same  solem- 
nity of  demeanor  on  the  part  of  the  spectators;  as  befitted  a 
people  amongst  whom  religion  and  law  were  almost  identical, 
and  in  whose  character  both  were  so  thoroughly  interfused,  that 
the  mildest  and  the  severest  acts  of  public  discipline  were  alike 
made  venerable  and  awful.  Meagre,  indeed,  and  cold  was  the 
sympathy  that  a  transgressor  might  look  for,  from  such  bystanders, 
at  the  scaffold.  On  the  other  hand,  a  penalty,  which,  in  our 
days,  would  infer  a  degree  of  mocking  infamy  and  ridicule,  might 
then  be  invested  with  almost  as  stern  a  dignity  as  the  punish- 
ment of  death  itself. 

It  was  a  circumstance  to  be  noted,  on  the  summer  morning 
when  our  story  begins  its  course,  that  the  women,  of  whom 
there  were  several  in  the  crowd,  appeared  to  take  a  peculiar 
interest  in  whatever  penal  infliction  might  be  expected  to  ensue. 
The  age  had  not  so  much  refinement,  that  any  sense  of  impro- 
priety restrained  the  wearers  of  petticoat  and  farthingale  from 
stepping  forth  into  the  public  ways,  and  wedging  their  not 
unsubstantial  persons,  if  occasion  were,  into  the  throng  nearest  to 
the  scaffold  at  an  execution.  Morally,  as  well  as  materially,  there 
was  a  coarser  fibre  in  those  wives  and  maidens  of  old  English 
birth  and  breeding,  than  in  their  fair  descendants,  separated 
from  them  by  a  series  of  six  or  seven  generations ;  for,  through- 
out that  chain  of  ancestry,  every  successive  mother  has  trans- 
mitted to  her  child  a  fainter  bloom,  a  more  delicate  and  briefer 
beauty,  and  a  slighter  physical  frame,  if  not  a  character  of  less 


56  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

force  and  solidity,  than  her  own.  The  women  who  were  now 
standing  about  the  prison-door  stood  within  less  than  half  a 
century  of  the.  period  when  the  man-like  Elizabeth  had  been 
the  not  altogether  unsuitable  representative  of  the  sex.  They 
were  her  countrywomen;  and  the  beef  and  ale  of  their  native 
land,  with  a  moral  diet  not  a  whit  more  refined,  entered  largely 
into  their  composition.  The  bright  morning  sun,  therefore,  shone 
on  broad  shoulders  and  well-developed  busts,  and  on  round  and 
ruddy  cheeks,  that  had  ripened  in  the  far-off  island,  and  had 
hardly  yet  grown  paler  or  thinner  in  the  atmosphere  of  New 
England.  There  was,  moreover,  a  boldness  and  rotundity  of 
speech  among  these  matrons,  as  most  of  them  seemed  to  be, 
that  would  startle  us  at  the  present  day,  whether  in  respect  to 
its  purport  or  its  volume  of  tone. 

"  Goodwives,"  said  a  hard-featured  dame  of  fifty,  "  I  '11  tell 
ye  a  piece  of  my  mind.  It  would  be  greatly  for  the  public 
behoof,  if  we  women,  being  of  mature  age  and  church-members 
in  good  repute,  should  have  the  handling  of  such  malefactresses 
as  this  Hester  Prynne.  What  think  ye,  gossips  ?  If  the  hussy 
stood  up  for  judgment  before  us  five,  that  are  now  here  in  a 
knot  together,  would  she  come  off  with  such  a  sentence  as  the 
worshipful  magistrates  have  awarded  ?     Marry,  I  trow  not !  " 

"  People  say/'  said  another,  "  that  the  Reverend  Master  Dimmes- 
dale,  her  godly  pastor,  takes  it  very  grievously  to  heart  that  such 
a  scandal  should  have  come  upon  his  congregation." 

"The  magistrates  are  God-fearing  gentlemen,  but  merciful 
overmuch,  —  that  is  a  truth,"  added  a  third  autumnal  matron. 
"At  the  very  least,  they  should  have  put  the  brand  of  a  hot 
iron  on  Hester  Prynne's  forehead.  Madam  Hester  would  have 
winced  at  that,  I  warrant  me.     But  she,  —  the  naughty  baggage, 


THE    MARKET-PLACE. 


57 


—  little  will  she  care  what  they  put  upon  the  bodice  of  her 
gown !  Why,  look  you,  she  may  cover  it  with  a  brooch,  or 
such  like  heathenish  adornment,  and  so  walk  the  streets  as  brave 
as  ever ! " 

"  Ah,  but/'    interposed,   more   softly,  a   young  wife,   holding 


a  child  by  the  hand,  "  let  her  cover 
the  mark  as  she  will,  the  pang  of  it 
will  be  always  in  her  heart." 

"  What  do  we  talk  of  marks  and 
brands,  whether  on  the  bodice  of  her 

gown,  or  the  flesh  of  her  forehead  ?  "  cried  another  female,  the 
ugliest  as  well  as  the  most  pitiless  of  these  self-constituted  judges. 
"  This  woman  has  brought  shame  upon  us  all,  and  ought  to  die. 
Is  there  not  law  for  it?  Truly,  there  is,  both  in  the  Scrip- 
ture and  the  statute-book.  Then  let  the  magistrates,  who  have 
made  it  of  no  effect,  thank  themselves  if  their  own  wives  and 
daughters  go  astray  !  " 

"Mercy    on    us,    goodwife/'    exclaimed   a  man  in  the  crowd, 
"  is  there  no  virtue  in  woman,  save  what  springs  from  a  whole- 


58  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

some  fear  of  the  gallows  ?  That  is  the  hardest  word  yet ! 
Hush,  now,  gossips !  for  the  lock  is  turning  in  the  prison- 
door,  and  here  comes  Mistress  Pryrme  herself." 

The  door  of  the  jail  being  flung  open  from  within,  there 
appeared,  in  the  first  place,  like  a  black  shadow  emerging  into 
sunshine,  the  grim  and  grisly  presence  of  the  town-beadle,  with 
a  sword  by  his  side,  and  his  staff  of  office  in  his  hand.  This 
personage  prefigured  and  represented  in  his  aspect  the  whole 
dismal  severity  of  the  Puritanic  code  of  law,  which  it  was  his 
business  to  administer  in  its  final  and  closest  application  to  the 
offender.  Stretching  forth  the  official  staff  in  his  left  hand,  he 
laid  his  right  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  young  woman,  whom  he 
thus  drew  forward;  until,  on  the  threshold  of  the  prison-door, 
she  repelled  him,  by  an  action  marked  with  natural  dignity  and 
force  of  character,  and  stepped  into  the  open  air,  as  if  by  her 
own  free  will.  She  bore  in  her  arms  a  child,  a  baby  of  some 
three  months  old,  who  winked  and  turned  aside  its  little  face 
from  the  too  vivid  light  of  day;  because  its  existence,  hereto- 
fore, had  brought  it  acquainted  only  with  the  gray  twilight  of 
a  dungeon,  or  other  darksome  apartment  of  the  prison. 

When  the  young  woman  —  the  mother  of  this  child  —  stood 
fully  revealed  before  the  crowd,  it  seemed  to  be  her  first  im- 
pulse to  clasp  the  infant  closely  to  her  bosom;  not  so  much  by 
an  impulse  of  motherly  affection,  as  that  she  might  thereby  con- 
ceal a  certain  token,  which  was  wrought  or  fastened  into  her 
dress.  In  a  moment,  however,  wisely  judging  that  one  token  of 
her  shame  would  but  poorly  serve  to  hide  another,  she  took  the 
baby  on  her  arm,  and,  with  a  burning  blush,  and  yet  a  haughty 
smile,  and  a  glance  that  would  not  be  abashed,  looked  around 
at  her  towns-people  and  neighbors.     On  the  breast  of  her  gown, 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  59 

in  fine  red  cloth,  surrounded  with  an  elaborate  embroidery  and 
fantastic  flourishes  of  gold-thread,  appeared  the  letter  A.  It  was 
so  artistically  done,  and  with  so  much  fertility  and  gorgeous 
luxuriance  of  fancy,  that  it  had  all  the  effect  of  a  last  and  fitting 
decoration  to  the  apparel  which  she  wore;  and  which  was  of 
a  splendor  in  accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  but  greatly 
beyond  what  was  allowed  by  the  sumptuary  regulations  of  the 
colony. 

The  young  woman  was  tall,  with  a  figure  of  perfect  elegance 
on  a  large  scale.  She  had  dark  and  abundant  hair,  so  glossy 
that  it  threw  off  the  sunshine  with  a  gleam,  and  a  face  which, 
besides  being  beautiful  from  regularity  of  feature  and  richness 
of  complexion,  had  the  impressiveness  belonging  to  a  marked 
brow  and  deep  black  eyes.  She  was  lady-like,  too,  after  the 
manner  of  the  feminine  gentility  of  those  days;  characterized  by 
a  certain  state  and  dignity,  rather  than  by  the  delicate,  evanes- 
cent, and  indescribable  grace,  which  is  now  recognized  as  its 
indication.  And  never  had  Hester  Prynne  appeared  more  lady- 
like, in  the  antique  interpretation  of  the  term,  than  as  she  issued 
from  the  prison.  Those  who  had  before  known  her,  and  had 
expected  to  behold  her  dimmed  and  obscured  by  a  disastrous 
cloud,  were  astonished,  and  even  startled,  to  perceive  how  her 
beauty  shone  out,  and  made  a  halo  of  the  misfortune  and  igno- 
miny in  which  she  was  enveloped.  It  may  be  true,  that,  to  a 
sensitive  observer,  there  was  something  exquisitely  painful  in  it. 
Her  attire,  which,  indeed,  she  had  wrought  for  the  occasion,  in 
prison,  and  had  modelled  much  after  her  own  fancy,  seemed  to 
express  the  attitude  of  her  spirit,  the  desperate  recklessness  of 
her  mood,  by  its  wild  and  picturesque  peculiarity.  But  the  point 
which  drew  all  eyes,  and,  as  it  were,  transfigured  the  wearer, — > 


60  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

so  that  both  men  and  women,  who  had  been  familiarly  acquainted 
with  Hester  Prynne,  were  now  impressed  as  if  they  beheld  her 
for  the  first  time,  —  was  that  Scarlet  Lettek,  so  fantastically 
embroidered  and  illuminated  upon  her  bosom.  It  had  the  effect 
of  a  spell,  taking  her  out  of  the  ordinary  relations  with  human- 
ity, and  enclosing  her  in  a  sphere  by  herself. 

"She  hath  good  skill  at  her  needle,  that's  certain,"  remarked 
one  of  her  female  spectators;  "but  did  ever  a  woman,  before 
this  brazen  hussy,  contrive  such  a  way  of  showing  it !  Why, 
gossips,  what  is  it  but  to  laugh  in  the  faces  of  our  godly  magis- 
trates, and  make  a  pride  out  of  what  they,  worthy  gentlemen, 
meant  for  a  punishment?" 

"It  were  well,"  muttered  the  most  iron- visa ged  of  the  old 
dames,  "if  we  stripped  Madam  Hester's  rich  gown  off  her 
dainty  shoulders;  and  as  for  the  red  letter,  which  she  hath 
stitched  so  curiously,  I'll  bestow  a  rag  of  mine  own  rheumatic 
flannel,  to  make  a  fitter  one ! " 

"  O,  peace,  neighbors,  peace ! "  whispered  their  youngest  com- 
panion; "do  not  let  her  hear  you!  Not  a  stitch  in  that 
embroidered  letter  but  she  has  felt  it  in  her  heart." 

The  grim  beadle  now  made  a  gesture  with  his  staff. 

"  Make  way,  good  people,  make  way,  in  the  King's  name ! " 
cried  he.  "  Open  a  passage ;  and,  I  promise  ye,  Mistress  Prynne 
shall  be  set  where  man,  woman,  and  child  may  have  a  fair  sight 
of  her  brave  apparel,  from  this  time  till  an  hour  past  meridian. 
A  blessing  on  the  righteous  Colony  of  the  Massachusetts,  where 
iniquity  is  dragged  out  into  the  sunshine !  Come  along,  Madam 
Hester,  and  show  your  scarlet  letter  in  the  market-place ! " 

A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of  spectators. 
Preceded  by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by  an  irregular  procession 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  61 

of  stern-browed  men  and  unkindly  visaged  women,  Hester  Prynne 
set  forth  towards  the  place  appointed  for  her  punishment.  A 
crowd  of  eager  and  curious  school-boys,  understanding  little  of 
the  matter  in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half-holiday,  ran 
before  her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually  to  stare  into 
her  face,  and  at  the  winking  baby  in  her  arms,  and  at  the  igno- 
minious letter  on  her  breast.  It  was  no  great  distance,  in  those 
days,  from  the  prison-door  to  the  market-place.  Measured  by 
the  prisoner's  experience,  however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  jour- 
ney of  some  length ;  for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she 
perchance  underwent  an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those  that 
thronged  to  see  her,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  flung  into  the 
street  for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon.  In  our  nature, 
however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  marvellous  and  merciful,  that 
the  sufferer  should  never  know  the  intensity  of  what  he  endures 
by  its  present  torture,  but  chiefly  by  the  pang  that  rankles  after 
it.  With  almost  a  serene  deportment,  therefore,  Hester  Prynne 
passed  through  this  portion  of  her  ordeal,  and  came  to  a  sort  of 
scaffold,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  market-place.  It  stood 
nearly  beneath  the  eaves  of  Boston's  earliest  church,  and  appeared 
to  be  a  fixture  there. 

In  fact,  this  scaffold  constituted  a  portion  of  a  penal  machine, 
which  now,  for  two  or  three  generations  past,  has  been  merely 
historical  and  traditionary  among  us,  but  was  held,  in  the  old 
time,  to  be  as  effectual  an  agent,  in  the  promotion  of  good  citizen- 
ship, as  ever  was  the  guillotine  among  the  terrorists  of  France. 
It  was,  in  short,  the  platform  of  the  pillory;  and  above  it  rose 
the  framework  of  that  instrument  of  discipline,  so  fashioned  as 
to  confine  the  human  head  in  its  tight  grasp,  and  thus  hold  it 
up  to  the  public   gaze.     The  very  ideal   of  ignominy  was  em- 


62,  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

bodied  and  made  manifest  in  this  contrivance  of  wood  and  iron. 
There  can  be  no  outrage,  methinks,  against  our  common 
nature,  —  whatever  be  the  delinquencies  of  the  individual,  —  no 
outrage  more  flagrant  than  to  forbid  the  culprit  to  hide  his  face 
for  shame;  as  it  was  the  essence  of  this  punishment  to  do.  In 
Hester  Prynne's  instance,  however,  as  not  unfrequently  in  other 
cases,  her  sentence  bore,  that  she  should  stand  a  certain  time 
upon  the  platform,  but  without  undergoing  that  gripe  about  the 
neck  and  confinement  of  the  head,  the  proneness  to  which  was 
the  most  devilish  characteristic  of  this  ugly  engine.  Knowing 
well  her  part,  she  ascended  a  flight  of  wooden  steps,  and  was 
thus  displayed  to  the  surrounding  multitude,  at  about  the  height 
of  a  man's  shoulders  above  the  street. 

Had  there  been  a  Papist  among  the  crowd  of  Puritans,  he 
might  have  seen  in  this  beautiful  woman,  so  picturesque  in  her 
attire  and  mien,  and  with  the  infant  at  her  bosom,  an  object  to 
remind  him  of  the  image  of  Divine  Maternity,  which  so  many 
illustrious  painters  have  vied  with  one  another  to  represent; 
something  which  should  remind  him,  indeed,  but  only  by  con- 
trast, of  that  sacred  image  of  sinless  motherhood,  whose  infant 
was  to  redeem  the  world.  Here,  there  was  the  taint  of  deepest 
sin  in  the  most  sacred  quality  of  human  life,  working  such  effect, 
that  the  world  was  only  the  darker  for  this  woman's  beauty, 
and  the  more  lost  for  the  infant  that  she  had  borne. 

The  scene  was  not  without  a  mixture  of  awe,  such  as  must 
always  invest  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame  in  a  fellow-crea- 
ture, before  society  shall  have  grown  corrupt  enough  to  smile, 
instead  of  shuddering,  at  it.  The  witnesses  of  Hester  Prynne's 
disgrace  had  not  yet  passed  beyond  their  simplicity.  They  were 
stern  enough  to  look  upon  her  death,  had  that  been  the  sentence, 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  63 

without  a  murmur  at  its  severity,  but  had  none  of  the  heart- 
lessness  of  another  social  state,  which  would  find  only  a  theme 
for  jest  in  an  exhibition  like  the  present.  Even  had  there  been 
a  disposition  to  turn  the  matter  into  ridicirie,  it  must  have  been 
repressed  and  overpowered  by  the  solemn  presence  of  men  no 
less  dignified  than  the  Governor,  and  several  of  his  counsellors, 
a  judge,  a  general,  and  the  ministers  of  the  town;  all  of  whom 
sat  or  stood  in  a  balcony  of  the  meeting-house,  looking  down 
upon  the  platform.  When  such  personages  could  constitute  a 
part  of  the  spectacle,  without  risking  the  majesty  or  reverence 
of  rank  and  office,  it  was  safely  to  be  inferred  that  the  inflic- 
tion of  a  legal  sentence  would  have  an  earnest  and  effectual 
meaning.  Accordingly,  the  crowd  was  sombre  and  grave.  The 
unhappy  culprit  sustained  herself  as  best  a  woman  might,  under 
the  heavy  weight  of  a  thousand  unrelenting  eyes,  all  fastened 
upon  her,  and  concentrated  at  her  bosom.  It  was  almost  intol- 
erable to  be  borne.  Of  an  impulsive  and  passionate  nature,  she 
had  fortified  herself  to  encounter  the  stings  and  venomous  stabs 
of  public  contumely,  wreaking  itself  in  every  variety  of  insult; 
but  there  was  a  quality  so  much  more  terrible  in  the  solemn 
mood  of  the  popular  mind,  that  she  longed  rather  to  behold  all 
those  rigid  countenances  contorted  with  scornful  merriment,  and 
herself  the  object.  Had  a  roar  of  laughter  burst  from  the  mul- 
titude, —  each  man,  each  woman,  each  little  shrill- voiced  child, 
contributing  their  individual  parts,  —  Hester  Prynne  might  have 
repaid  them  all  with  a  bitter  and  disdainful  smile.  But,  under 
the  leaden  infliction  which  it  was  her  doom  to  endure,  she  felt, 
at  moments,  as  if  she  must  needs  shriek  out  with  the  full  power 
of  her  lungs,  and  cast  herself  from  the  scaffold  down  upon  the 
ground,  or  else  go  mad  at  once. 


64  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  whole  scene,  in  which  she 
was  the  most  conspicuous  object,  seemed  to  vanish  from  her 
eyes,  or,  at  least,  glimmered  indistinctly  before  them,  like  a 
mass  of  imperfectly  shaped  and  spectral  images.  Her  mind, 
and  especially  her  memory,  was  preternaturally  active,  and  kept 
bringing  up  other  scenes  than  this  roughly  hewn  street  of  a 
little  town,  on  the  edge  of  the  Western  wilderness;  other  faces 
than  were  lowering  upon  her  from  beneath  the  brims  of  those 
steeple-crowned  hats.  Reminiscences  the  most  trifling  and  im- 
material, passages  of  infancy  and  school-days,  sports,  childish 
quarrels,  and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her  maiden  years,  came 
swarming  back  upon  her,  intermingled  with  recollections  of  what- 
ever was  gravest  in  her  subsequent  life;  one  picture  precisely 
as  vivid  as  another;  as  if  all  were  of  similar  importance,  or  all 
alike  a  play.  Possibly,  it  was  an  instinctive  device  of  her  spirit, 
to  relieve  itself,  by  the  exhibition  of  these  phantasmagoric  forms, 
from  the  cruel  weight  and  hardness  of  the  reality. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory  was  a  point 
of  view  that  revealed  to  Hester  Prynne  the  entire  track  along 
which  she  had  been  treading,  since  her  happy  infancy.  Stand- 
ing on  that  miserable  eminence,  she  saw  again  her  native  village, 
in  Old  England,  and  her  paternal  home;  a  decayed  house  of 
gray  stone,  with  a  poverty-stricken  aspect,  but  retaining  a  half- 
obliterated  shield  of  arms  over  the  portal,  in  token  of  antique 
gentility.  She  saw  her  father's  face,  with  its  bald  brow,  and 
reverend  white  beard,  that  flowed  over  the  old-fashioned  Eliza- 
bethan ruff;  her  mother's,  too,  with  the  look  of  heedful  and 
anxious  love  which  it  always  wore  in  her  remembrance,  and  which, 
even  since  her  death,  had  so  often  laid  the  impediment  of  a  gen- 
tle remonstrance  in  her  daughter's  pathway.     She  saw  her  own 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  67 

face,  glowing  with  girlish  beauty,  and  illuminating  all  the  interior 
of  the  dusky  mirror  in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  gaze  at  it. 
There  she  beheld  another  countenance,  of  a  man  well  stricken 
in  years,  a  pale,  thin,  scholar-like  visage,  with  eyes  dim  and 
bleared  by  the  lamplight  that  had  served  them  to  pore  over 
many  ponderous  books.  Yet  those  same  bleared  optics  had  a 
strange,  penetrating  power,  when  it  was  their  owner's  purpose  to 
read  the  human  soul.  This  figure  of  the  study  and  the  cloister, 
as  Hester  Prynne's  womanly  fancy  failed  not  to  recall,  was 
slightly  deformed,  with  the  left  shoulder  a  trifle  higher  than 
the  right.  Next  rose  before  her,  in  memory's  picture-gallery, 
the  intricate  and  narrow  thoroughfares,  the  tall,  gray  houses, 
the  huge  cathedrals,  and  the  public  edifices,  ancient  in  date  and 
quaint  in  architecture,  of  a  Continental  city ;  where  a  new  life 
had  awaited  her,  still  in  connection  with  the  misshapen  scholar; 
a  new  life,  but  feeding  itself  on  time-worn  materials,  like  a  tuft 
of  green  moss  on  a  crumbling  wall.  Lastly,  in  lieu  of  these 
shifting  scenes,  came  back  the  rude  market-place  of  the  Puritan 
settlement,  with  all  the  towns-people  assembled  and  levelling  their 
stern  regards  at  Hester  Prynne,  —  yes,  at  herself,  —  who  stood 
on  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory,  an  infant  on  her  arm,  and  the  let- 
ter A,  in  scarlet,  fantastically  embroidered  with  gold-thread,  upon 
her  bosom ! 

Could  it  be  true?  She  clutched  the  child  so  fiercely  to  her 
breast,  that  it  sent  forth  a  cry;  she  turned  her  eyes  downward 
at  the  scarlet  letter,  and  even  touched  it  with  her  finger,  to  assure 
herself  that  the  infant  and  the  shame  were  real.  Yes !  —  these 
were  her  realities,  —  all  else  had  vanished ! 


in. 


THE    RECOGNITION. 


^OM  this  intense  consciousness  of  being  the 
object  of  severe  and  universal  observation, 
the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter  was  at  length 
relieved,  by  discerning,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  a  figure  which  irresistibly  took  posses- 
sion of  her  thoughts.  An  Indian,  in  his  native 
garb,  was  standing  there ;  but  the  red  men  were  not  so  infrequent 
visitors  of  the  English  settlements,  that  one  of  them  would  have 
attracted  any  notice  from  Hester  Prynne,  at  such  a  time;  much 
less  would  he  have  excluded  all  other  objects  and  ideas  from 
her  mind.  By  the  Indian's  side,  and  evidently  sustaining  a 
companionship  with  him,  stood  a  white  man,  clad  in  a  strange 
disarray  of  civilized  and  savage  costume. 

He  was  small  in  stature,  with  a  furrowed  visage,  which,  as  yet, 
could  hardly  be  termed  aged.  There  was  a  remarkable  intelligence 
in  his  features,  as  of  a  person  who  had  so  cultivated  his  mental 
part  that  it  could  not  fail  to  mould  the  physical  to  itself,  and 
become  manifest  by  unmistakable  tokens.  Although,  by  a  seem- 
ingly careless   arrangement    of  his  heterogeneous   garb,   he  had 


THE   RECOGNITION.  69 

endeavored  to  conceal  or  abate  the  peculiarity,  it  was  sufficiently 
evident  to  Hester  Prynne,  that  one  of  this  man's  shoulders  rose 
higher  than  the  other.  Again,  at  the  first  instant  of  perceiving 
that  thin  visage,  and  the  slight  deformity  of  the  figure,  she 
pressed  her  infant  to  her  bosom  with  so  convulsive  a  force  that 
the  poor  babe  uttered  another  cry  of  pain.  But  the  mother  did 
not  seem  to  hear  it. 

At  his  arrival  in  the  market-place,  and  some  time  before  she 
saw  him,  the  stranger  had  bent  his  eyes  on  Hester  Prynne.  It 
was  carelessly,  at  first,  like  a  man  chiefly  accustomed  to  look 
inward,  and  to  whom  external  matters  are  of  little  value  and 
import,  unless  they  bear  relation  to  something  within  his  mind. 
Very  soon,  however,  his  look  became  keen  and  penetrative.  A 
writhing  horror  twisted  itself  across  his  features,  like  a  snake 
gliding  swiftly  over  them,  and  making  one  little  pause,  with  all 
its  wreathed  intervolutions  in  open  sight.  His  face  darkened 
with  some  powerful  emotion,  which,  nevertheless,  he  so  instan- 
taneously controlled  by  an  effort  of  his  will,  that,  save  at  a 
single  moment,  its  expression  might  have  passed  for  calmness. 
After  a  brief  space,  the  convulsion  grew  almost  imperceptible, 
and  finally  subsided  into  the  depths  of  his  nature.  When  he 
found  the  eyes  of  Hester  Prynne  fastened  on  his  own,  and  saw 
that  she  appeared  to  recognize  him,  he  slowly  and  calmly  raised 
his  finger,  made  a  gesture  with  it  in  the  air,  and  laid  it  on  his 
lips. 

Then,  touching  the  shoulder  of  a  townsman  who  stood  next 
to  him,  he  addressed  him,  in  a  formal  and  courteous  manner. 

"  I  pray  you,  good  Sir,"  said  he,  "  who  is  this  woman  ?  — 
and  wherefore  is  she  here  set  up  to  public  shame  ?" 

"You  must  needs  be  a  stranger  in  this  region,  friend,"  an- 


70  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

swered  the  townsman,  looking  curiously  at  the  questioner  and 
his  savage  companion,  "else  you  would  surely  have  heard  of 
Mistress  Hester  Prynne,  and  her  evil  doings.  She  hath  raised 
a  great  scandal,  I  promise  you,  in  godly  Master  Dimmesdale's 
church." 

"You  say  truly,"  replied  the  other.  "I  am  a  stranger,  and 
have  been  a  wanderer,  sorely  against  my  will.  I  have  met  with 
grievous  mishaps  by  sea  and  land,  and  have  been  long  held  in 
bonds  among  the  heathen-folk,  to  the  southward;  and  am  now 
brought  hither  by  this  Indian,  to  be  redeemed  out  of  my  cap- 
tivity. Will  it  please  you,  therefore,  to  tell  me  of  Hester 
Prynne's,  —  have  I  her  name  rightly  ?  —  of  this  woman's  offences, 
and  what  has  brought  her  to  yonder  scaffold?" 

"  Truly,  friend ;  and  methinks  it  must  gladden  your  heart,  after 
your  troubles  and  sojourn  in  the  wilderness,"  said  the  townsman, 
"  to  find  yourself,  at  length,  in  a  land  where  iniquity  is  searched 
out,  and  punished  in  the  sight  of  rulers  and  people;  as  here  in 
our  godly  New  England.  Yonder  woman,  Sir,  you  must  know, 
was  the  wife  of  a  certain  learned  man,  English  by  birth,  but  who 
had  long  dwelt  in  Amsterdam,  whence,  some  good  time  agone, 
he  was  minded  to  cross  over  and  cast  in  his  lot  with  us  of  the 
Massachusetts.  To  this  purpose,  he  sent  his  wife  before  him, 
remaining  himself  to  look  after  some  necessary  affairs.  Marry, 
good  Sir,  in  some  two  years,  or  less,  that  the  woman  has  been 
a  dweller  here  in  Boston,  no  tidings  have  come  of  this  learned 
gentleman,  Master  Prynne;  and  his  young  wife,  look  you,  being 
left  to  her  own  misguidance  —  " 

"Ah!  —  aha! — I  conceive  you,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "  So  learned  a  man  as  you  speak  of  should  have  learned 
this  too  in  his  books.     And  who,  by  your  favor,  Sir,  may  be  the 


THE    RECOGNITION.  71 

father  of  yonder  babe  —  it  is  some  three  or  four  months  old,  I 
should  judge — which  Mistress  Prynne  is  holding  in  her  arms?" 

"  Of  a  truth,  friend,  that  matter  remaineth  a  riddle ;  and  the 
Daniel  who  shall  expound  it  is  yet  a- wanting,"  answered  the  towns- 
man. "Madam  Hester  absolutely  refuseth  to  speak,  and  the 
magistrates  have  laid  their  heads  together  in  vain.  Peradventure 
the  guilty  one  stands  looking  on  at  this  sad  spectacle,  unknown 
of  man,  and  forgetting  that  God  sees  him." 

"  The  learned  man,"  observed  the  stranger,  with  another  smile, 
"should  come  himself,  to  look  into  the  mystery." 

"It  behooves  him  well,  if  he  be  still  in  life/'  responded  the 
townsman.  "Now,  good  Sir,  our  Massachusetts  magistracy, 
bethinking  themselves  that  this  woman  is  youthful  and  fair,  and 
doubtless  was  strongly  tempted  to  her  fall,  —  and  that,  moreover, 
as  is  most  likely,  her  husband  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
—  they  have  not  been  bold  to  put  in  force  the  extremity  of  our 
righteous  law  against  her.  The  penalty  thereof  is  death.  But 
in  their  great  mercy  and  tenderness  of  heart,  they  have  doomed 
Mistress  Prynne  to  stand  only  a  space  of  three  hours  on  the 
platform  of  the  pillory,  and  then  and  thereafter,  for  the  remainder 
of  her  natural  life,  to  wear  a  mark  of  shame  upon  her  bosom." 

"  A  wise  sentence  ! "  remarked  the  stranger,  gravely  bowing  his 
head.  "Thus  she  will  be  a  living  sermon  against  sin,  until  the 
ignominious  letter  be  engraved  upon  her  tombstone.  It  irks  me, 
nevertheless,  that  the  partner  of  her  iniquity  should  not,  at  least, 
stand  on  the  scaffold  by  her  side.  But  he  will  be  known  !  — 
he  will  be  known  !  —  he  will  be  known  !  " 

He  bowed  courteously  to  the  communicative  townsman,  and, 
whispering  a  few  words  to  his  Indian  attendant,  they  both  made 
their  way  through  the  crowd. 


72  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"While  this  passed,  Hester  Prynne  had  been  standing  on  her 
pedestal,  still  with  a  fixed  gaze  towards  the  stranger;  so  fixed  a 
gaze,  that,  at  moments  of  intense  absorption,  all  other  objects 
in  the  visible  world  seemed  to  vanish,  leaving  only  him  and  her. 
Such  an  interview,  perhaps,  would  have  been  more  terrible  than 
even  to  meet  him  as  she  now  did,  with  the  hot,  midday  sun 
burning  down  upon  her  face,  and  lighting  up  its  shame;  with 
the  scarlet  token  of  infamy  on  her  breast;  with  the  sin-born 
infant  in  her  arms;  with  a  whole  people,  drawn  forth  as  to  a 
festival,  staring  at  the  features  that  should  have  been  seen  only 
in  the  quiet  gleam  of  the  fireside,  in  the  happy  shadow  of  a 
home,  or  beneath  a  matronly  veil,  at  church.  Dreadful  as  it 
was,  she  was  conscious  of  a  shelter  in  the  presence  of  these 
thousand  witnesses.  It  was  better  to  stand  thus,  with  so  many 
betwixt  him  and  her,  than  to  greet  him,  face  to  face,  they  two 
alone.  She  fled  for  refuge,  as  it  were,  to  the  public  exposure, 
and  dreaded  the  moment  when  its  protection  should  be  with- 
drawn from  her.  Involved  in  these  thoughts,  she  scarcely  heard 
a  voice  behind  her,  until  it  had  repeated  her  name  more  than 
once,  in  a  loud  and  solemn  tone,  audible  to  the  whole  multitude. 

"  Hearken  unto  me,  Hester  Prynne ! M  said  the  voice. 

It  has  already  been  noticed,  that  directly  over  the  platform 
on  which  Hester  Prynne  stood  was  a  kind  of  balcony,  or  open 
gallery,  appended  to  the  meeting-house.  It  was  the  place  whence 
proclamations  were  wont  to  be  made,  amidst  an  assemblage  of 
the  magistracy,  with  all  the  ceremonial  that  attended  such  pub- 
lic observances  in  those  days.  Here,  to  witness  the  scene  which 
we  are  describing,  sat  Governor  Bellingham  himself,  with  four 
sergeants  about  his  chair,  bearing  halberds,  as  a  guard  of  honor. 
He  wore  a  dark  feather  in  his  hat,  a  border  of  embroidery  on 


THE   RECOGNITION.  73 

his  cloak,  and  a  black  velvet  tunic  beneath;  a  gentleman  ad- 
vanced in  years,  with  a  hard  experience  written  in  his  wrinkles. 
He  was  not  ill  fitted  to  be  the  head  and  representative  of  a  com- 
munity, which  owed  its  origin  and  progress,  and  its  present 
state  of  development,  not  to  the  impulses  of  youth,  but  to  the 
stern  and  tempered  energies  of  manhood,  and  the  sombre  sagacity 
of  age;  accomplishing  so  much,  precisely  because  it  imagined 
and  hoped  so  little.  The  other  eminent  characters,  by  whom 
the  chief  ruler  was  surrounded,  were  distinguished  by  a  dignity 
of  mien,  belonging  to  a  period  when  the  forms  of  authority  were 
felt  to  possess  the  sacredness  of  Divine  institutions.  They  were, 
doubtless,  good  men,  just  and  sage.  But,  out  of  the  whole 
human  family,  it  would  not  have  been  easy  to  select  the  same 
number  of  wise  and  virtuous  persons,  who  should  be  less  capable 
of  sitting  in  judgment  on  an  erring  woman's  heart,  and  disen- 
tangling its  mesh  of  good  and  evil,  than  the  sages  of  rigid  aspect 
towards  whom  Hester  Prynne  now  turned  her  face.  She  seemed 
conscious,  indeed,  that  whatever  sympathy  she  might  expect  lay 
in  the  larger  and  warmer  heart  of  the  multitude;  for,  as  she 
lifted  her  eyes  towards  the  balcony,  the  unhappy  woman  grew 
pale  and  trembled. 

The  voice  which  had  called  her  attention  was  that  of  the 
reverend  and  famous  John  Wilson,  the  eldest  clergyman  of  Bos- 
ton, a  great  scholar,  like  most  of  his  contemporaries  in  the  pro- 
fession, and  withal  a  man  of  kind  and  genial  spirit.  This  last 
attribute,  however,  had  been  less  carefully  developed  than  his 
intellectual  gifts,  and  was,  in  truth,  rather  a  matter  of  shame 
than  self-congratulation  with  him.  There  he  stood,  with  a  border 
of  grizzled  locks  beneath  his  skull-cap;  while  his  gray  eyes, 
accustomed  to  the  shaded  light  of  his  study,  were  winking,  like 


74  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

those  of  Hester's  infant,  in  the  unadulterated  sunshine.  He  looked 
like  the  darkly  engraved  portraits  which  we  see  prefixed  to  old 
volumes  of  sermons;  and  had  no  more  right  than  one  of  those 
portraits  would  have,  to  step  forth,  as  he  now  did,  and  meddle 
with  a  question  of  human  guilt,  passion,  and  anguish. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  the  clergyman,  '*  I  have  striven  with 
my  young  brother  here,  under  whose  preaching  of  the  word  you 
have  been  privileged  to  sit,"  —  here  Mr.  Wilson  laid  his  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  a  pale  young  man  beside  him,  —  "I  have 
sought,  I  say,  to  persuade  this  godly  youth,  that  he  should  deal 
with  you,  here  in  the  face  of  Heaven,  and  before  these  wise 
and  upright  rulers,  and  in  hearing  of  all  the  people,  as  touching 
the  vileness  and  blackness  of  your  sin.  Knowing  your  natural 
temper  better  than  I,  he  could  the  better  judge  what  arguments 
to  use,  whether  of  tenderness  or  terror,  such  as  might  prevail 
over  your  hardness  and  obstinacy;  insomuch  that  you  should 
no  longer  hide  the  name  of  him  who  tempted  you  to  this  griev- 
ous fall.  But  he  opposes  to  me  (with  a  young  man's  over-soft- 
ness, albeit  wise  beyond  his  years),  that  it  were  wronging  the 
very  nature  of.  woman  to  force  her  to  lay  open  her  heart's  secrets 
in  such  broad  daylight,  and  in  presence  of  so  great  a  multitude. 
Truly,  as  I  sought  to  convince  him,  the  shame  lay  in  the  com- 
mission of  the  sin,  and  not  in  the  showing  of  it  forth.  What 
say  you  to  it,  once  again,  Brother  Dimmesdale?  Must  it  be 
thou,  or  I,  that  shall  deal  with  this  poor  sinner's  soul?" 

There  was  a  murmur  among  the  dignified  and  reverend  occu- 
pants of  the  balcony ;  and  Governor  Bellingham  gave  expression 
to  its  purport,  speaking  in  an  authoritative  voice,  although  tem- 
pered with  respect  towards  the  youthful  clergyman  whom  he 
addressed. 


THE    RECOGNITION.  75 

"Good  Master  Dimmesdale,"  said  he,  "the  responsibility  of 
this  woman's  soul  lies  greatly  with  you.  It  behooves  you,  there- 
fore, to  exhort  her  to  repentance,  and  to  confession,  as  a  proof 
and  consequence  thereof/' 

The  directness  of  this  appeal  drew  the  eyes  of  the  whole  crowd 
upon  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale;  a  young  clergyman,  who 
had  come  from  one  of  the  great  English  universities,  bringing 
all  the  learning  of  the  age  into  our  wild  forest-land.  His  elo- 
quence and  religious  fervor  had  already  given  the  earnest  of 
high  eminence  in  his  profession.  He  was  a  person  of  very  strik- 
ing aspect,  with  a  white,  lofty,  and  impending  brow,  large  brown, 
melancholy  eyes,  and  a  mouth  which,  unless  when  he  forcibly 
compressed  it,  was  apt  to  be  tremulous,  expressing  both  nervous 
sensibility  and  a  vast  power  of  self-restraint.  Notwithstanding 
his  high  native  gifts  and  scholar-like  attainments,  there  was  an 
air  about  this  young  minister,  —  an  apprehensive,  a  startled,  a 
half-frightened  look,  — as  of  a  being  who  felt  himself  quite 
astray  and  at  a  loss  in  the  pathway  of  human  existence,  and 
could  only  be  at  ease  in  some  seclusion  of  his  own.  Therefore, 
so  far  as  his  duties  would  permit,  he  trod  in  the  shadowy  by- 
paths, and  thus  kept  himself  simple  and  childlike ;  coming  forth, 
when  occasion  was,  with  a  freshness,  and  fragrance,  and  dewy 
purity  of  thought,  which,  as  many  people  said,  affected  them 
like  the  speech  of  an  angel. 

Such  was  the  young  man  whom  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson 
and  the  Governor  had  introduced  so  openly  to  the  public  notice, 
bidding  him  speak,  in  the  hearing  of  all  men,  to  that  mystery 
of  a  woman's  soul,  so  sacred  even  in  its  pollution.  The  trying 
nature  of  his  position  drove  the  blood  from  his  cheek,  and  made 
his  lips  tremulous. 


76  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"  Speak  to  the  woman,  my  brother/'  said  Mr.  Wilson.  "  It 
is  of  moment  to  her  soul,  and  therefore,  as  the  worshipful  Gov- 
ernor says,  momentous  to  thine  own,  in  whose  charge  hers  is. 
Exhort  her  to  confess  the  truth \" 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  bent  his  head,  in  silent  prayer, 
as  it  seemed,  and  then  came  forward. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  leaning  over  the  balcony  and  look- 
ing down  steadfastly  into  her  eyes,  "thou  hearest  what  this  good 
man  says,  and  seest  the  accountability  under  which  I  labor.  If 
thou  feelest  it  to  be  for  thy  souFs  peace,  and  that  thy  earthly 
punishment  will  thereby  be  made  more  effectual  to  salvation,  I 
charge  thee  to  speak  out  the  name  of  thy  fellow-sinner  and  fellow- 
sufferer!  Be  not  silent  from  any  mistaken  pity  and  tenderness 
for  him;  for,  believe  me,  Hester,  though  he  were  to  step  down 
from  a  high  place,  and  stand  there  beside  thee,  on  thy  pedestal 
of  shame,  yet  better  were  it  so  than  to  hide  a  guilty  heart  through 
life.  What  can  thy  silence  do  for  him,  except  it  tempt  him  — 
yea,  compel  him,  as  it  were  —  to  add  hypocrisy  to  sin?  Heaven 
hath  granted  thee  an  open  ignominy,  that  thereby  thou  mayest 
work  out  an  open  triumph  over  the  evil  within  thee,  and  the 
sorrow  without.  Take  heed  how  thou  deniest  to  him  —  who, 
perchance,  hath  not  the  courage  to  grasp  it  for  himself — the 
bitter,  but  wholesome,  cup  that  is  now  presented  to  thy  lips ! " 

The  young  pastor's  voice  was  tremulously  sweet,  rich,  deep, 
and  broken.  The  feeling  that  it  so  evidently  manifested,  rather 
than  the  direct  purport  of  the  words,  caused  it  to  vibrate  within 
all  hearts,  and  brought  the  listeners  into  one  accord  of  sym- 
pathy. Even  the  poor  baby,  at  Hester's  bosom,  was  affected  by 
the  same  influence;  for  it  directed  its  hitherto  vacant  gaze 
towards  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  and  held  up  its  little  arms,  with  a 


THE    RECOGNITION.  77 

half-pleased,  half-plaintive  murmur.  So  powerful  seemed  the 
minister's  appeal,  that  the  people  could  not  believe  but  that 
Hester  Prynne  would  speak  out  the  guilty  name;  or  else  that 
the  guilty  one  himself,  in  whatever  high  or  lowly  place  he  stood, 
would  be  drawn  forth  by  an  inward  and  inevitable  necessity, 
and  compelled  to  ascend  to  the  scaffold. 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"Woman,  transgress  not  beyond  the  limits  of  Heaven's 
mercy ! w  cried  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson,  more  harshly  than 
before.  "  That  little  babe  hath  been  gifted  with  a  voice,  to  sec- 
ond and  confirm  the  counsel  which  thou  hast  heard.  Speak  out 
the  name !  That,  and  thy  repentance,  may  avail  to  take  the 
scarlet .  letter  off  thy  breast." 

"  Never ! "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking,  not  at  Mr.  Wil- 
son, but  into  the  deep  and  troubled  eyes  of  the  younger  clergy- 
man. "It  is  too  deeply  branded.  Ye  cannot  take  it  off.  And 
would  that  I  might  endure  his  agony,  as  well  as  mine ! 

"  Speak,  woman ! "  said  another  voice,  coldly  and  sternly, 
proceeding  from  the  crowd  about  the  scaffold.  "Speak;  and 
give  your  child  a  father ! " 

"  I  will  not  speak ! "  answered  Hester,  turning  pale  as  death, 
but  responding  to  this  voice,  which  she  too  surely  recognized. 
"And  my  child  must  seek  a  heavenly  Father;  she  shall  never 
know  an  earthly  one !  " 

"  She  will  not  speak ! "  murmured  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  who, 
leaning  over  the  balcony,  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  had 
awaited  the  result  of  his  appeal.  He  now  drew  back,  with  a 
long  respiration.  "  Wondrous  strength  and  generosity  of  a  wo- 
man's heart !     She  will  not  speak  !  " 

Discerning  the  impracticable  state  of  the  poor  culprit's  mind, 


78 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


the  elder  clergyman,  who  had  carefully  prepared  himself  for  the 
occasion,  addressed  to  the  multitude  a  discourse  on  sin,  in  all 
its  branches,  but  with  continual  reference  to  the  ignominious 
letter.  So  forcibly  did  he  dwell  upon  this  symbol,  for  the  hour 
or  more  during  which  his  periods  were  rolling  over  the  people's 

heads,  that  it 
assumed  new 
terrors  in 
their  imagi- 
nation, and 
seemed  to  de- 
rive its  scar- 
let hue  from 
the  flames  of 
the  infernal  pit.  Hes- 
ter Prynne,  meanwhile, 
kept  her  place  upon  the 
pedestal  of  shame,  with 
glazed  eyes,  and  an  air 
of  weary  indifference. 
She  had  borne,  that 
morning,  all  that  nature 
could  endure ;  and  as 
her  temperament  was 
not  of  the  order  that 
escapes  from  too  intense  suffering  by  a  swoon,  her  spirit  could 
only  shelter  itself  beneath  a  stony  crust  of  insensibility,  while 
the  faculties  of  animal  life  remained  entire.  In  this  state,  the 
voice  of  the  preacher  thundered  remorselessly,  but  unavailingly, 
upon    her  ears.     The  infant,   during  the  latter  portion   of    her 


THE    RECOGNITION. 


79 


ordeal,  pierced  the  air  with  its  waitings  and  screams;  she  strove 
to  hush  it,  mechanically,  but  seemed  scarcely  to  sympathize  with 
its  trouble.  With  the  same  hard  demeanor,  she  was  led  back  to 
prison,  and  vanished  from  the  public  gaze  within  its  iron-clamped 
portal.  It  was  whispered,  by  those  who  peered  after  her,  that 
the  scarlet  letter  threw  a  lurid  gleam  along  the  dark  passage-way 
of  the  interior. 


IV. 


THE   INTERVIEW, 


!FTER  her  return  to  the  prison,  Hester  Prynne 
was  found  to  be  in  a  state  of  nervous  excite- 
ment that  demanded  constant  watchfulness, 
lest  she  should  perpetrate  violence  on  herself, 
or  do  some  half-frenzied  mischief  to  the  poor 
babe.  As  night  approached,  it  proving  im- 
possible to  quell  her  insubordination  by  rebuke  or  threats  of  pun- 
ishment, Master  Brackett,  the  jailer,  thought  fit  to  introduce  a 
physician.  He  described  him  as  a  man  of  skill  in  all  Christian 
modes  of  physical  science,  and  likewise  familiar  with  whatever 
the  savage  people  could  teach,  in  respect  to  medicinal  herbs  and 
roots  that  grew  in  the  forest.  To  say  the  truth,  there  was  much 
need  of  professional  assistance,  not  merely  for  Hester  herself, 
but  still  more  urgently  for  the  child;  who,  drawing  its  suste- 
nance from  the  maternal  bosom,  seemed  to  have  drank  in  with  it 
all  the  turmoil,  the  anguish  and  despair,  which  pervaded  the 
mother's  system.  It  now  writhed  in  convulsions  of  pain,  and 
was  a  forcible  type,  in  its  little  frame,  of  the  moral  agony  which 
Hester  Prynne  had  borne  throughout  the  day. 


THE   INTERVIEW.  81 

Closely  following  the  jailer  into  the  dismal  apartment  appeared 
that  individual,  of  singular  aspect,  whose  presence  in  the  crowd 
had  been  of  such  deep  interest  to  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter. 
He  was  lodged  in  the  prison,  not  as  suspected  of  any  offence, 
but  as  the  most  convenient  and  suitable  mode  of  disposing  of 
him,  until  the  magistrates  should  have  conferred  with  the  Indian 
sagamores  respecting  his  ransom.  His  name  was  announced  as 
Eoger  Chillingvvorth.  The  jailer,  after  ushering  him  into  the 
room,  remained  a  moment,  marvelling  at  the  comparative  quiet 
that  followed  his  entrance;  for  Hester  Prynne  had  immediately 
become  as  still  as  death,  although  the  child  continued  to  moan. 

"Prithee,  friend,  leave  me  alone  with  my  patient,"  said  the 
practitioner.  "Trust  me,  good  jailer,  you  shall  briefly  have 
peace  in  your  house;  and,  I  promise  you,  Mistress  Prynne  shall 
hereafter  be  more  amenable  to  just  authority  than  you  may  have 
found  her  heretofore." 

"Nay,  if  your  worship  can  accomplish  that,"  answered  Master 
Brackett,  "  I  shall  own  you  for  a  man  of  skill  indeed !  Yerily, 
the  woman  hath  been  like  a  possessed  one ;  and  there  lacks  little, 
that  I  should  take  in  hand  to  drive  Satan  out  of  her  with  stripes." 

The  stranger  had  entered  the  room  with  the  characteristic 
quietude  of  the  profession  to  which  he  announced  himself  as 
belonging.  Nor  did  his  demeanor  change,  when  the  withdrawal 
of  the  prison-keeper  left  him  face  to  face  with  the  woman,  whose 
absorbed  notice  of  him,  in  the  crowd,  had  intimated  so  close  a  re- 
lation between  himself  and  her.  His  first  care  was  given  to  the 
child ;  whose  cries,  indeed,  as  she  lay  writhing  on  the  trundle-bed, 
made  it  of  peremptory  necessity  to  postpone  all  other  business 
to  the  task  of  soothing  her.  He  examined  the  infant  carefully, 
and  then  proceeded  to  unclasp  a  leathern   case,  which   he   took 


82  THE    SCAKLET   LETTER. 

from  beneath  his  dress.  It  appeared  to  contain  medical  prepa- 
rations, one  of  which  he  mingled  with  a  cup  of  water. 

"  My  old  studies  in  alchemy/'  observed  he,  "  and  my  sojourn, 
for  above  a  year  past,  among  a  people  well  versed  in  the  kindly 
properties  of  simples,  have  made  a  better  physician  of  me  than 
many  that  claim  the  medical  degree.  Here,  woman !  The  child 
is  yours,  —  she  is  none  of  mine,  —  neither  will  she  recognize  my 
voice  or  aspect  as  a  father's.  Administer  this  draught,  therefore, 
with  thine  own  hand." 

Hester  repelled  the  offered  medicine,  at  the  same  time  gazing 
with  strongly  marked  apprehension  into  his  face. 

"Wouldst  thou  avenge  thyself  on  the  innocent  babe?"  whis- 
pered she. 

"  Foolish  woman ! "  responded  the  physician,  half  coldly,  half 
soothingly.  "What  should  ail  me,  to  harm  this  misbegotten 
and  miserable  babe  ?  The  medicine  is  potent  for  good ;  and  were 
it  my  child,  —  yea,  mine  own,  as  well  as  thine !  —  I  could  do  no 
better  for  it." 

As  she  still  hesitated,  being,  in  fact,  in  no  reasonable  state  of 
mind,  he  took  the  infant  in  his  arms,  and  himself  administered 
the  draught.  It  soon  proved  its  efficacy,  and  redeemed  the 
leech's  pledge.  The  moans  of  the  little  patient  subsided;  its 
convulsive  tossings  gradually  ceased ;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  as 
is  the  custom  of  young  children  after  relief  from  pain,  it  sank  into 
a  profound  and  dewy  slumber.  The  physician,  as  he  had  a  fair 
right  to  be  termed,  next  bestowed  his  attention  on  the  mother. 
With  calm  and  intent  scrutiny  he  felt  her  pulse,  looked  into  her 
eyes,  —  a  gaze  that  made  her  heart  shrink  and  shudder,  because 
so  familiar,  and  yet  so  strange  and  cold,  —  and,  finally,  satisfied 
with  his  investigation,  proceeded  to  mingle  another  draught. 


THE   INTERVIEW.  83 

"I  know  not  Lethe  nor  Nepenthe/'  remarked  he;  "but  I 
have  learned  many  new  secrets  in  the  wilderness,  and  here  is 
one  of  them,  —  a  recipe  that  an  Indian  taught  me,  in  requital 
of  some  lessons  of  my  own,  that  were  as  old  as  Paracelsus.  Drink 
it !  It  may  be  less  soothing  than  a  sinless  conscience.  That  I 
cannot  give  thee.  But  it  will  calm  the  swell  and  heaving  of  thy 
passion,  like  oil  thrown  on  the  waves  of  a  tempestuous  sea." 

He  presented  the  cup  to  Hester,  who  received  it  with  a  slow, 
earnest  look  into  his  face;  not  precisely  a  look  of  fear,  yet  full 
of  doubt  and  questioning,  as  to  what  his  purposes  might  be. 
She  looked  also  at  her  slumbering  child. 

u  I  have  thought  of  death,"  said  she,  —  u  have  wished  for  it, 
—  would  even  have  prayed  for  it,  were  it  fit  that  such  as  I 
should  pray  for  anything.  Yet  if  death  be  in  this  cup,  I  bid 
thee  think  again,  ere  thou  beholdest  me  quaff  it.  See !  It  is 
even  now  at  my  lips." 

"  Drink,  then,"  replied  he,  still  with  the  same  cold  composure. 
"Dost  thou  know  me  so  little,  Hester  Prynne?  Are  my  pur- 
poses wont  to  be  so  shallow?  Even  if  I  imagine  a  scheme  of 
vengeance,  what  could  I  do  better  for  my  object  than  to  let 
thee  live,  —  than  to  give  thee  medicines  against  all  harm  and 
peril  of  life,  —  so  that  this  burning  shame  may  still  blaze  upon 
thy  bosom?"  As  he  spoke,  he  laid  his  long  forefinger  on  the 
scarlet  letter,  which  forthwith  seemed  to  scorch  into  Hester's 
breast,  as  if  it  had  been  red-hot.  He  noticed  her  involuntary 
gesture,  and  smiled.  "Live,  therefore,  and  bear  about  thy  doom 
with  thee,  in  the  eyes  of  men  and  women,  —  in  the  eyes  of  him 
whom  thou  didst  call  thy  husband,  —  in  the  eyes  of  yonder 
child!     And,  that  thou  mayest  live,  take  off  this  draught." 

Without  further  expostulation  or  delay,  Hester  Prynne  drained 


84  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

the  cup,  and,  at  the  motion  of  the  man  of  skill,  seated  herself 
on  the  bed  where  the  child  was  sleeping ;  while  he  drew  the  only 
chair  which  the  room  afforded,  and  took  his  own  seat  beside  her. 
She  could  not  but  tremble  at  these  preparations;  for  she  felt 
that  —  having  now  done  all  that  humanity  or  principle,  or,  if  so 
it  were,  a  refined  cruelty,  impelled  him  to  do,  for  the  relief  of 
physical  suffering  —  he  was  next  to  treat  with  her  as  the  man 
whom  she  had  most  deeply  and  irreparably  injured. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  I  ask  not  wherefore,  nor  how,  thou  hast 
fallen  into  the  pit,  or  say,  rather,  thou  hast  ascended  to  the 
pedestal  of  infamy,  on  which  I  found  thee.  The  reason  is  not 
far  to  seek.  It  was  my  folly,  and  thy  weakness.  I,  —  a  man 
of  thought,  —  the  bookworm  of  great  libraries,  —  a  man  already 
in  decay,  having  given  my  best  years  to  feed  the  hungry  dream 
of  knowledge,  —  what  had  I  to  do  with  youth  and  beauty  like 
thine  own !  Misshapen  from  my  birth-hour,  how  could  I  delude 
myself  with  the  idea  that  intellectual  gifts  might  veil  physical 
deformity  in  a  young  girl's  fantasy !  Men  call  me  wise.  If 
sages  were  ever  wise  in  their  own  behoof,  I  might  have  foreseen 
all  this.  I  might  have  known  that,  as  I  came  out  of  the  vast 
and  dismal  forest,  and  entered  this  settlement  of  Christian  men, 
the  very  first  object  to  meet  my  eyes  would  be  thyself,  Hester 
Prynne,  standing  up,  a  statue  of  ignominy,  before  the  people. 
Nay,  from  the  moment  when  we  came  down  the  old  church  steps 
together,  a  married  pair,  I  might  have  beheld  the  bale-fire  of 
that  scarlet  letter  blazing  at  the  end  of  our  path ! " 

"Thou  knowest,"  said  Hester,  —  for,  depressed  as  she  was,  she 
could  not  endure  this  last  quiet  stab  at  the  token  of  her  shame, 
—  "thou  knowest  that  I  was  frank  with  thee.  I  felt  no  love, 
nor  feigned  any." 


THE   INTERVIEW.  85 

"  True,"  replied  he.  "  It  was  my  folly  !  I  have  said  it.  But, 
up  to  that  epoch  of  my  life,  I  had  lived  in  vain.  The  world 
had  been  so  cheerless !  My  heart  was  a  habitation  large  enough 
for  many  guests,  but  lonely  and  chill,  and  without  a  household 
fire.  I  longed  to  kindle  one !  It  seemed  not  so  wild  a  dream, 
—  old  as  I  was,  and  sombre  as  I  was,  and  misshapen  as  I  was,  — 
that  the  simple  bliss,  which  is  scattered  far  and  wide,  for  all 
mankind  to  gather  up,  might  yet  be  mine.  And  so,  Hester,  I 
drew  thee  into  my  heart,  into  its  innermost  chamber,  and  sought 
to  warm  thee  by  the  warmth  which  thy  presence  made  there ! " 

"I  have  greatly  wronged  thee,"  murmured  Hester. 

"We  have  wronged  each  other,"  answered  he.  "Mine  was 
the  first  wrong,  when  I  betrayed  thy  budding  youth  into  a  false 
and  unnatural  relation  with  my  decay.  Therefore,  as  a  man  who 
has  not  thought  and  philosophized  in  vain,  I  seek  no  vengeance, 
plot  no  evil  against  thee.  Between  thee  and  me  the  scale  hangs 
fairly  balanced.  But,  Hester,  the  man  lives  who  has  wronged  us 
both!     Who  is  he?" 

"  Ask  me  not ! "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking  firmly  into  his 
face.     "  That  thou  shalt  never  know  !  " 

"  Never,  say  est  thou  ?  "  rejoined  he,  with  a  smile  of  dark  and 
self-relying  intelligence.  "  Never  know  him !  Believe  me,  Hes- 
ter, there  are  few  things,  —  whether  in  the  outward  world,  or,  to 
a  certain  depth,  in  the  invisible  sphere  of  thought,  —  few  things 
hidden  from  the  man  who  devotes  himself  earnestly  and  unre- 
servedly to  the  solution  of  a  mystery.  Thou  mayest  cover  up 
thy  secret  from  the  prying  multitude.  Thou  mayest  conceal  it, 
too,  from  the  ministers  and  magistrates,  even  as  thou  didst  this 
day,  when  they  sought  to  wrench  the  name  out  of  thy  heart,  and 
give  thee  a  partner  on  thy  pedestal.     But,  as  for  me,  I  come  to 


86  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

the  inquest  with  other  senses  than  they  possess.  I  shall  seek 
this  man,  as  I  have  sought  truth  in  books;  as  I  have  sought 
gold  in  alchemy.  There  is  a  sympathy  that  will  make  me  con- 
scious of  him.  I  shall  see  him  tremble.  I  shall  feel  myself 
shudder,  suddenly  and  unawares.  Sooner  or  later,  he  must  needs 
be  mine ! " 

The  eyes  of  the  wrinkled  scholar  glowed  so  intensely  upon  her, 
that  Hester  Prynne  clasped  her  hands  over  her  heart,  dreading 
lest  he  should  read  the  secret  there  at  once. 

"Thou  wilt  not  reveal  his  name?  Not  the  less  he  is  mine," 
resumed  he,  with  a  look  of  confidence,  as  if  destiny  were  at  one 
with  him.  "  He  bears  no  letter  of  infamy  wrought  into  his  gar- 
ment, as  thou  dost;  but  I  shall  read  it  on  his  heart.  Yet  fear 
not  for  him !  Think  not  that  I  shall  interfere  with  Heaven's 
own  method  of  retribution,  or,  to  my  own  loss,  betray  him  to  the 
gripe  of  human  law.  Neither  do  thou  imagine  that  I  shall  con- 
trive aught  against  his  life;  no,  nor  against  his  fame,  if,  as  I 
judge,  he  be  a  man  of  fair  repute.  Let  him  live !  Let  him 
hide  himself  in  outward  honor,  if  he  may !  Not  the  less  he 
shall  be  mine ! " 

"Thy  acts  are  like  mercy,"  said  Hester,  bewildered  and  appalled. 
"But  thy  words  interpret  thee  as  a  terror!" 

"One  thing,  thou  that  wast  my  wife,  I  would  enjoin  upo:i 
thee,"  continued  the  scholar.  "  Thou  hast  kept  the  secret  of  thy 
paramour.  Keep,  likewise,  mine !  There  are  none  in  this  Ian. I 
that  know  me.  Breathe  not,  to  any  human  soul,  that  thou  didst 
ever  call  me  husband !  Here,  on  this  wild  outskirt  of  the  earth, 
I  shall  pitch  my  tent;  for,  elsewhere  a  wanderer,  and  isolated 
from  human  interests,  I  find  here  a  woman,  a  man,  a  child, 
amongst  whom  and  myself  there  exist  the  closest  ligaments.     No 


THE   INTERVIEW.  89 

matter  whether  of  love  or  hate;  no  matter  whether  of  right  or 
wrong !  Thou  and  thine,  Hester  Prynne,  belong  to  me.  My 
home  is  where  thou  art,  and  where  he  is.  But  betray  me 
not ! " 

""Wherefore  dost  thou  desire  it?"  inquired  Hester,  shrinking, 
she  hardly  knew  why,  from  this  secret  bond.  "  Why  not  an- 
nounce thyself  openly,  and  cast  me  off  at  once?" 

"It  may  be,"  he  replied,  "because  I  will  not  encounter  the 
dishonor  that  besmirches  the  husband  of  a  faithless  woman.  It 
may  be  for  other  reasons.  Enough,  it  is  my  purpose  to  live 
and  die  unknown.  Let,  therefore,  thy  husband  be  to  the  world 
as  one  already  dead,  and  of  whom  no  tidings  shall  ever  come. 
Eecognize  me  not,  by  word,  by  sign,  by  look !  Breathe  not  the 
secret,  above  all,  to  the  man  thou  wottest  of.  Shouldst  thou 
fail  me  in  this,  beware !  His  fame,  his  position,  his  life,  will  be 
in  my  hands.     Beware!" 

"I  will  keep  thy  secret,  as  I  have  his,"  said  Hester. 

"Swear  it!"  rejoined  he. 

And  she  took  the  oath. 

"And  now,  Mistress  Prynne,"  said  old  Eoger  Chillingworth, 
as  he  was  hereafter  to  be  named,  "I  leave  thee  alone;  alone 
with  thy  infant,  and  the  scarlet  letter !  How  is  it,  Hester  ? 
Doth  thy  sentence  bind  thee  to  wear  the  token  in  thy  sleep? 
Art  thou  not  afraid  of  nightmares  and  hideous  dreams?" 

"Why  dost  thou  smile  so  at  me?"  inquired  Hester,  troubled 
at  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  "Art  thou  like  the  Black  Man 
that  haunts  the  forest  round  about  us?  Hast  thou  enticed  me 
into  a  bond  that  will  prove  the  ruin  of  my  soul?" 

"Not  thy  soul,"  he  answered,  with  another  smile.  "No,  not 
thine ! " 


V. 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE. 


,  ESTER  PRYNNE'S  term  of  confinement  was 
now  at  an  end.  Her  prison-door  was  thrown 
open,  and  she  came  forth  into  the  sunshine, 
which,  falling  on  all  alike,  seemed,  to  her 
sick  and  morbid  heart,  as  if  meant  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  reveal  the  scarlet  letter 
on  her  breast.  Perhaps  there  was  a  more  real  torture  in  her 
first  unattended  footsteps  from  the  threshold  of  the  prison,  than 
even  in  the  procession  and  spectacle  that  have  been  described, 
where  she  was  made  the  common  infamy,  at  which  all  mankind 
was  summoned  to  point  its  finger.  Then,  she  was  supported  by 
an  unnatural  tension  of  the  nerves,  and  by  all  the  combative 
energy  of  her  character,  which  enabled  her  to  convert  the  scene 
into  a  kind  of  lurid  triumph.  It  was,  moreover,  a  separate  and 
insulated  event,  to  occur  but  once  in  her  lifetime,  and  to  meet 
which,  therefore,  reckless  of  economy,  she  might  call  up  the  vital 
strength  that  would  have  sufficed  for  many  quiet  years.  The 
very  law  that  condemned  her  —  a  giant  of  stern  features,  but 
with  vigor  to  support,  as  well  as  to  annihilate,  in  his  iron  arm  — 


HESTER   AT    HER    NEEDLE.  91 

had  held  her  up,  through  the  terrible  ordeal  of  her  ignominy. 
But  now,  with  this  unattended  walk  from  her  prison-door,  began 
the  daily  custom;  and  she  must  either  sustain  and  carry  it 
forward  by  the  ordinary  resources  of  her  nature,  or  sink  beneath 
it.  She  could  no  longer  borrow  from  the  future  to  help  her 
through  the  present  grief.  To-morrow  would  bring  its  own  trial 
with  it ;  so  would  the  next  day,  and  so  would  the  next ;  each  its 
own  trial,  and  yet  the  very  same  that  was  now  so  unutterably 
grievous  to  be  borne.  The  days  of  the  far-off  future  would  toil 
onward,  still  with  the  same  burden  for  her  to  take  up,  and  bear 
along  with  her,  but  never  to  fling  down;  for  the  accumulating 
days,  and  added  years,  would  pile  up  their  misery  upon  the  heap 
of  shame.  Throughout  them  all,  giving  up  her  individuality,  she 
would  become  the  general  symbol  at  which  the  preacher  and 
moralist  might  point,  and  in  which  they  might  vivify  and  embody 
their  images  of  woman's  frailty  and  sinful  passion.  Thus  the 
young  and  pure  would  be  taught  to  look  at  her,  with  the  scarlet 
letter  flaming  on  her  breast,  —  at  her,  the  child  of  honorable 
parents,  —  at  her,  the  mother  of  a  babe,  that  would  hereafter  be 
a  woman,  —  at  her,  who  had  once  been  innocent,  — ■  as  the  figure, 
the  body,  the  reality  of  sin.  And  over  her  grave,  the  infamy  that 
she  must  carry  thither  would  be  her  only  monument. 

It  may  seem  marvellous,  that,  with  the  world  before  her, — 
kept  by  no  restrictive  clause  of  her  condemnation  within  the 
limits  of  the  Puritan  settlement,  so  remote  and  so  obscure, — 
free  to  return  to  her  birthplace,  or  to  any  other  European  land, 
and  there  hide  her  character  and  identity  under  a  new  exterior, 
as  completely  as  if  emerging  into  another  state  of  being,  —  and 
having  also  the  passes  of  the  dark,  inscrutable  forest  open  to 
her,  where  the  wildness  of  her  nature  might  assimilate  itself  with 


92  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

a  people  whose  customs  and  life  were  alien  from  the  law  that 
had  condemned  her,  —  it  may  seem  marvellous,  that  this  woman 
should  still  call  that  place  her  home,  where,  and  where  only,  she 
must  needs  be  the  type  of  shame.  But  there  is  a  fatality,  a  feel- 
ing so  irresistible  and  inevitable  that  it  has  the  force  of  doom, 
which  almost  invariably  compels  human  beings  to  linger  around 
and  haunt,  ghost-like,  the  spot  where  some  great  and  marked 
event  has  given  the  color  to  their  lifetime;  and  still  the  more 
irresistibly,  the  darker  the  tinge  that  saddens  it.  Her  sin,  her 
ignominy,  were  the  roots  which  she  had  struck  into  the  soil. 
It  was  as  if  a  new  birth,  with  stronger  assimilations  than  the 
first,  had  converted  the  forest-land,  still  so  uncongenial  to  every 
other  pilgrim  and  wanderer,  into  Hester  Prynne's  wild  and  dreary, 
but  life-long  home.  All  other  scenes  of  earth  —  even  that  village 
of  rural  England,  where  happy  infancy  and  stainless  maidenhood 
seemed  yet  to  be  in  her  mother's  keeping,  like  garments  put 
off  long  ago  —  were  foreign  to  her,  in  comparison.  The  chain 
that  bound  her  here  was  of  iron  links,  and  galling  to  her  inmost 
soul,  but  could  never  be  broken. 

It  might  be,  too,  —  doubtless  it  was  so,  although  she  hid  the 
secret  from  herself,  and  grew  pale  whenever  it  struggled  out 
of  her  heart,  like  a  serpent  from  its  hole,  —  it  might  be  that 
another  feeling  kept  her  within  the  scene  and  pathway  that  had 
been  so  fatal.  There  dwelt,  there  trode  the  feet  of  one  with 
whom  she  deemed  herself  connected  in  a  union,  that,  unrecog- 
nized on  earth,  would  bring  them  together  before  the  bar  of 
final  judgment,  and  make  that  their  marriage-altar,  for  a  joint 
futurity  of  endless  retribution.  Over  and  over  again,  the  tempter 
of  souls  had  thrust  this  idea  upon  Hester's  contemplation,  and 
laughed    at    the    passionate    and    desperate    joy   with   which   she 


HESTER   AT    HER    NEEDLE.  93 

seized,  and  then  strove  to  cast  it  from  her.  She  barely  looked 
the  idea  in  the  face,  and  hastened  to  bar  it  in  its  dungeon.  What 
she  compelled  herself  to  believe  —  what,  finally,  she  reasoned 
upon,  as  her  motive  for  continuing  a  resident  of  New  Eng- 
land—  was  half  a  truth,  and  half  a  self-delusion.  Here,  she 
said  to  herself,  had  been  the  scene  of  her  guilt,  and  here  should 
be  the  scene  of  her  earthly  punishment ;  and  so,  perchance,  the 
torture  of  her  daily  shame  would  at  length  purge  her  soul,  and 
work  out  another  purity  than  that  which  she  had  lost ;  more 
saint-like,  because  the  result  of  martyrdom. 

Hester  Prynne,  therefore,  did  not  flee.  On  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  within  the  verge  of  the  peninsula,  but  not  in  close  vicinity 
to  any  other  habitation,  there  was  a  small  thatched  cottage.      It 


had  been  built  by  an  earlier  settler,  and  abandoned  because  the 
soil  about  it  was  too  sterile  for  cultivation,  while  its  compara- 
tive remoteness  put  it  out  of  the  sphere  of  that  social  activity 
which  already  marked  the  habits  of  the  emigrants.  It  stood  on 
the  shore,  looking  across  a  basin  of  the  sea  at  the  forest-covered 
hills,  towards  the  west.     A  clump  of  scrubby  trees,  such  as  alone 


94  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

grew  on  the  peninsula,  did  not  so  much  conceal  the  cottage 
from  view,  as  seem  to  denote  that  here  was  some  object  which 
would  fain  have  been,  or  at  least  ought  to  be,  concealed.  In 
this  little,  lonesome  dwelling,  with  some  slender  means  that  she 
possessed,  and  by  the  license  of  the  magistrates,  who  still  kept 
an  inquisitorial  watch  over  her,  Hester  established  herself,  with 
her  infant  child.  A  mystic  shadow  of  suspicion  immediately 
attached  itself  to  the  spot.  Children,  too  young  to  compre- 
hend wherefore  this  woman  should  be  shut  out  from  the  sphere 
of  human  charities,  would  creep  nigh  enough  to  behold  her 
plying  her  needle  at  the  cottage-window,  or  standing  in  the 
doorway,  or  laboring  in  her  little  garden,  or  coming  forth  along 
the  pathway  that  led  townward;  and,  discerning  the  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast,  would  scamper  off  with  a  strange,  conta- 
gious fear. 

Lonely  as  was  Hester's  situation,  and  without  a  friend  on 
earth  who  dared  to  show  himself,  she,  however,  incurred  no  risk 
of  want.  She  possessed  an  art  that  sufficed,  even  in  a  land  that 
afforded  comparatively  little  scope  for  its  exercise,  to  supply  food 
for  her  thriving  infant  and  herself.  It  was  the  art  —  then,  as 
now,  almost  the  only  one  within  a  woman's  grasp  —  of  needle- 
work. She  bore  on  her  breast,  in  the  curiously  embroidered 
letter,  a  specimen  of  her  delicate  and  imaginative  skill,  of  which 
the  dames  of  a  court  might  gladly  have  availed  themselves,  to 
add  the  richer  and  more  spiritual  adornment  of  human  ingenuity 
to  their  fabrics  of  silk  and  gold.  Here,  indeed,  in  the  sable 
simplicity  that  generally  characterized  the  Puritanic  modes  of 
dress,  there  might  be  an  infrequent  call  for  the  finer  productions 
of  her  handiwork.  Yet  the  taste  of  the  age,  demanding  what- 
ever was  elaborate  in  compositions  of  this  kind,  did  not  fail  to 


HESTER   AT    HER   NEEDLE.  95 

extend  its  influence  over  our  stern  progenitors,  who  had  cast 
behind  them  so  many  fashions  which  it  might  seem  harder  to 
dispense  with.  Public  ceremonies,  such  as  ordinations,  the  instal- 
lation of  magistrates,  and  all  that  could  give  majesty  to  the  forms 
in  which  a  new  government  manifested  itself  to  the  people,  were, 
as  a  matter  of  policy,  marked  by  a  stately  and  well-conducted 
ceremonial,  and  a  sombre,  but  yet  a  studied  magnificence.  Deep 
ruffs,  painfully  wrought  bands,  and  gorgeously  embroidered  gloves, 
were  all  deemed  necessary  to  the  official  state  of  men  assuming 
the  reins  of  power;  and  were  readily  allowed  to  individuals 
dignified  by  rank  or  wealth,  even  while  sumptuary  laws  forbade 
these  and  similar  extravagances  to  the  plebeian  order.  In  the 
array  of  funerals,  too,  —  whether  for  the  apparel  of  the  dead 
body,  or  to  typify,  by  manifold  emblematic  devices  of  sable  cloth 
and  snowy  lawn,  the  sorrow  of  the  survivors,  —  there  was  a  fre- 
quent and  characteristic  demand  for  such  labor  as  Hester  Prynne 
could  supply.  Baby-linen  —  for  babies  then  wore  robes  of  state 
—  afforded  still  another  possibility  of  toil  and  emolument. 

By  degrees,  nor  very  slowly,  her  handiwork  became  what  would 
now  be  termed  the  fashion.  Whether  from  commiseration  for 
a  woman  of  so  miserable  a  destiny;  or  from  the  morbid  curi- 
osity that  gives  a  fictitious  value  even  to  common  or  worthless 
things;  or  by  whatever  other  intangible  circumstance  was  then, 
as  now,  sufficient  to  bestow,  on  some  persons,  what  others  might 
seek  in  vain;  or  because  Hester  really  filled  a  gap  which  must 
otherwise  have  remained  vacant;  it  is  certain  that  she  had  ready 
and  fairly  requited  employment  for  as  many  hours  as  she  saw 
fit  to  occupy  with  her  needle.  Vanity,  it  may  be,  chose  to 
mortify  itself,  by  putting  on,  for  ceremonials  of  pomp  and  state, 
the  garments  that  had  been  wrought  by  her  sinful  hands.     Her 


96  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

needlework  was  seen  on  the  ruff  of  the  Governor;  military  men 
wore  it  on  their  scarfs,  and  the  minister  on  his  band  j  it  decked 
the  baby's  little  cap ;  it  was  shut  up,  to  be  mildewed  and  moulder 
away,  in  the  coffins  of  the  dead.  But  it  is  not  recorded  that, 
in  a  single  instance,  her  skill  was  called  in  aid  to  embroider 
the  white  veil  which  was  to  cover  the  pure  blushes  of  a  bride. 
The  exception  indicated  the  ever- relentless  rigor  with  which  society 
frowned  upon  her  sin. 

Hester  sought  not  to  acquire  anything  beyond  a  subsistence, 
of  the  plainest  and  most  ascetic  description,  for  herself,  and 
a  simple  abundance  for  her  child.  Her  own  dress  was  of  the 
coarsest  materials  and  the  most  sombre  hue;  with  only  that  one 
ornament,  —  the  scarlet  letter,  —  which  it  was  her  doom  to  wear. 
The  child's  attire,  on  the  other  hand,  was  distinguished  by  a 
fanciful,  or,  we  might  rather  say,  a  fantastic  ingenuity,  which 
served,  indeed,  to  heighten  the  airy  charm  that  early  began  to 
develop  itself  in  the  little  girl,  but  which  appeared  to  have  also 
a  deeper  meaning.  We  may  speak  further  of  it  hereafter.  Except 
for  that  small  expenditure  in  the  decoration  of  her  infant,  Hester 
bestowed  all  her  superfluous  means  in  charity,  on  wretches  less 
miserable  than  herself,  and  who  not  unfrequently  insulted  the 
hand  that  fed  them.  Much  of  the  time,  which  she  might  readily 
have  applied  to  the  better  efforts  of  her  art,  she  employed  in 
making  coarse  garments  for  the  poor.  It  is  probable  that  there 
was  an  idea  of  penance  in  this  mode  of  occupation,  and  that  she 
offered  up  a  real  sacrifice  of  enjoyment,  in  devoting  so  many 
hours  to  such  rude  handiwork.  She  had  in  her  nature  a  rich, 
voluptuous,  Oriental  characteristic,  —  a  taste  for  the  gorgeously 
beautiful,  which,  save  in  the  exquisite  productions  of  her  needle, 
found  nothing  else,  in  all  the  possibilities  of  her  life,  to  exer- 


HESTER   AT    HER   NEEDLE.  97 

else  itself  upon.  Women  derive  a  pleasure,  incomprehensible  to 
the  other  sex,  from  the  delicate  toil  of  the  needle.  To  Hester 
Prynne  it  might  have  been  a  mode  of  expressing,  and  therefore 
soothing,  the  passion  of  her  life.  Like  all  other  joys,  she  rejected 
it  as  sin.  This  morbid  meddling  of  conscience  with  an  imma- 
terial matter  betokened,  it  is  to  be  feared,  no  genuine  and  stead- 
fast penitence,  but  something  doubtful,  something  that  might 
be  deeply  wrong,  beneath. 

In  this  manner,  Hester  Prynne  came  to  have  a  part  to  perform 
in  the  world.  With  her  native  energy  of  character,  and  rare 
capacity,  it  could  not  entirely  cast  her  off,  although  it  had  set 
a  mark  upon  her,  more  intolerable  to  a  woman's  heart  than  that 
which  branded  the  brow  of  Cain.  In  all  her  intercourse  with 
society,  however,  there  was  nothing  that  made  her  feel  as  if  she 
belonged  to  it.  Every  gesture,  every  word,  and  even  the  silence 
of  those  with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  implied,  and  often 
expressed,  that  she  was  banished,  and  as  much  alone  as  if  she 
inhabited  another  sphere,  or  communicated  with  the  common 
nature  by  other  organs  and  senses  than  the  rest  of  human  kind. 
She  stood  apart  from  moral  interests,  yet  close  beside  them,  like 
a  ghost  that  revisits  the  familiar  fireside,  and  can  no  longer  make 
itself  seen  or  felt;  no  more  smile  with  the  household  joy,  nor 
mourn  with  the  kindred  sorrow;  or,  should  it  succeed  in  mani- 
festing its  forbidden  sympathy,  awakening  only  terror  and  horri- 
ble repugnance.  These  emotions,  in  fact,  and  its  bitterest  scorn 
besides,  seemed  to  be  the  sole  portion  that  she  retained  in  the 
universal  heart.  It  was  not  an  age  of  delicacy;  and  her  posi- 
tion, although  she  understood  it  well,  and  was  in  little  danger 
of  forgetting  it,  was  often  brought  before  her  vivid  self-perception, 
like  a  new  anguish,  by  the  rudest  touch  upon  the  tenderest  spot. 


98  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

The  poor,  as  we  have  already  said,  whom  she  sought  out  to  be 
the  objects  of  her  bounty,  often  reviled  the  hand  that  was  stretched 
forth  to  succor  them.  Dames  of  elevated  rank,  likewise,  whose 
doors  she  entered  in  the  way  of  her  occupation,  were  accustomed 
to  distil  drops  of  bitterness  into  her  heart;  sometimes  through 
that  alchemy  of  quiet  malice,  by  which  women  can  concoct  a 
subtle  poison  from  ordinary  trifles;  and  sometimes,  also,  by 
a  coarser  expression,  that  fell  upon  the  sufferer's  defenceless 
breast  like  a  rough  blow  upon  an  ulcerated  wound.  Hester  had 
schooled  herself  long  and  well;  she  never  responded  to  these 
attacks,  save  by  a  flush  of  crimson  that  rose  irrepressibly  over 
her  pale  cheek,  and  again  subsided  into  the  depths  of  her  bosom. 
She  was  patient,  —  a  martyr,  indeed,  —  but  she  forbore  to  pray 
for  her  enemies ;  lest,  in  spite  of  her  forgiving  aspirations,  the 
words  of  the  blessing  should  stubbornly  twist  themselves  into 
a  curse. 

Continually,  and  in  a  thousand  other  ways,  did  she  feel  the 
innumerable  throbs  of  anguish  that  had  been  so  cunningly  con- 
trived for  her  by  the  undying,  the  ever-active  sentence  of  the 
Puritan  tribunal.  Clergymen  paused  in  the  street  to  address 
words  of  exhortation,  that  brought  a  crowd,  with  its  mingled 
grin  and  frown,  around  the  poor,  sinful  woman.  If  she  entered 
a  church,  trusting  to  share  the  Sabbath  smile  of  the  Universal 
Father,  it  was  often  her  mishap  to  find  herself  the  text  of  the 
discourse.  She  grew  to  have  a  dread  of  children;  for  they  had 
imbibed  from  their  parents  a  vague  idea  of  something  horrible 
in  this  dreary  woman,  gliding  silently  through  the  town,  with 
never  any  companion  but  one  only  child.  Therefore,  first  allow- 
ing her  to  pass,  they  pursued  her  at  a  distance  with  shrill  cries, 
and  the  utterance  of  a  word  that  had  no   distinct   purport  to 


HESTER   AT    HER    NEEDLE.  101 

their  own  minds,  bnt  was  none  the  less  terrible  to  her,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  lips  that  babbled  it  unconsciously.  It  seemed  to 
argue  so  wide  a  diffusion  of  her  shame,  that  all  nature  knew 
of  it;  it  could  have  caused  her  no  deeper  pang,  had  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  whispered  the  dark  story  among  themselves,  —  had 
the  summer  breeze  murmured  about  it,  —  had  the  wintry  blast 
shrieked  it  aloud !  Another  peculiar  torture  was  felt  in  the  gaze 
of  a  new  eye.  When  strangers  looked  curiously  at  the  scarlet 
letter,  —  and  none  ever  failed  to  do  so,  —  they  branded  it  afresh 
into  Hester's  soul;  so  that,  oftentimes,  she  could  scarcely  refrain, 
yet  always  did  refrain,  from  covering  the  symbol  with  her  hand. 
But  then,  again,  an  accustomed  eye  had  likewise  its  own  anguish 
to  inflict.  Its  cool  stare  of  familiarity  was  intolerable.  From 
first  to  last,  in  short,  Hester  Prynne  had  always  this  dreadful 
agony  in  feeling  a  human  eye  upon  the  token;  the  spot  never 
grew  callous ;  it  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to  grow  more  sensitive 
with  daily  torture. 

But  sometimes,  once  in  many  days,  or  perchance  in  many 
months,  she  felt  an  eye  —  a  human  eye  —  upon  the  ignominious 
brand,  that  seemed  to  give  a  momentary  relief,  as  if  half  of  her 
agony  were  shared.  The  next  instant,  back  it  all  rushed  again, 
with  still  a  deeper  throb  of  pain;  for,  in  that  brief  interval, 
she  had  sinned  anew.     Had  Hester  sinned  alone? 

Her  imagination  was  somewhat  affected,  and,  had  she  been 
of  a  softer  moral  and  intellectual  fibre,  would  have  been  still 
more  so,  by  the  strange  and  solitary  anguish  of  her  life.  Walk- 
ing to  and  fro,  with  those  lonely  footsteps,  in  the  little  world 
with  which  she  was  outwardly  connected,  it  now  and  then  appeared 
to  Hester,  —  if  altogether  fancy,  it  was  nevertheless  too  potent 
to  be  resisted,  —  she  felt  or  fancied,  then,  that  the  scarlet  letter 


102  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

had  endowed  her  with  a  new  sense.  She  shuddered  to  believe, 
yet  could  not  help  believing,  that  it  gave  her  a  sympathetic 
knowledge  of  the  hidden  sin  in  other  hearts.  She  was  terror- 
stricken  by  the  revelations  that  were  thus  made.  What  were 
they?  Could  they  be  other  than  the  insidious  whispers  of  the 
bad  angel,  who  would  fain  have  persuaded  the  struggling  woman, 
as  yet  only  half  his  victim,  that  the  outward  guise  of  purity 
was  but  a  lie,  and  that,  if  truth  were  everywhere  to  be  shown, 
a  scarlet  letter  would  blaze  forth  on  many  a  bosom  besides  Hester 
Prynne's  ?  Or,  must  she  receive  those  intimations  —  so  obscure, 
yet  so  distinct  —  as  truth  ?  In  all  her  miserable  experience,  there 
was  nothing  else  so  awful  and  so  loathsome  as  this  sense.  It 
perplexed,  as  well  as  shocked  her,  by  the  irreverent  inopportune- 
ness  of  the  occasions  that  brought  it  into  vivid  action.  Some- 
times the  red  infamy  upon  her  breast  would  give  a  sympathetic 
throb,  as  she  passed  near  a  venerable  mimster  or  magistrate, 
the  model  of  piety  and  justice,  to  whom  that  age  of  antique 
reverence  looked  up,  as  to  a  mortal  man  in  fellowship  with  angels. 
"What  evil  thing  is  at  hand?"  would  Hester  say  to  herself. 
Lifting  her  reluctant  eyes,  there  would  be  nothing  human  within 
the  scope  of  view,  save  the  form  of  this  earthly  saint !  Again, 
a  mystic  sisterhood  would  contumaciously  assert  itself,  as  she 
met  the  sanctified  frown  of  some  matron,  who,  according  to  the 
rumor  of  all  tongues,  had  kept  cold  snow  within  her  bosom 
throughout  life.  That  unsunned  snow  in  the  matron's  bosom, 
and  the  burning  shame  on  Hester  Prynne's,  —  what  had  the  two 
in  common?  Or,  once  more,  the  electric  thrill  would  give  her 
warning,  —  "  Behold,  Hester,  here  is  a  companion  !  "  —  and,  look- 
ing up,  she  would  detect  the  eyes  of  a  young  maiden  glancing 
at  the  scarlet  letter,  shyly  and  aside,  and  quickly  averted  with 


HESTER   AT    HER    NEEDLE.  103 

a  faint,  chill  crimson  in  her  cheeks;  as  if  her  purity  were  some- 
what sullied  by  that  momentary  glance.  O  Fiend,  whose  talisman 
was  that  fatal  symbol,  wouldst  thou  leave  nothing,  whether  in 
youth  or  age,  for  this  poor  sinner  to  revere  ?  —  such  loss  of  faith 
is  ever  one  of  the  saddest  results  of  sin.  Be  it  accepted  as  a  proof 
that  all  was  not  corrupt  in  this  poor  victim  of  her  own  frailty, 
and  man's  hard  law,  that  Hester  Prynne  yet  struggled  to  believe 
that  no   fellow-mortal  was  guilty  like  herself. 

The  vulgar,  who,  in  those  dreary  old  times,  were  always  con- 
tributing a  grotesque  horror  to  what  interested  their  imaginations, 
had  a  story  about  the  scarlet  letter  which  we  might  readily  work 
up  into  a  terrific  legend.  They  averred,  that  the  symbol  was 
not  mere  scarlet  cloth,  tinged  in  an  earthly  dye-pot,  but  was 
red-hot  with  infernal  fire,  and  could  be  seen  glowing  all  alight, 
whenever  Hester  Prynne  walked  abroad  in  the  night-time.  And 
we  must  needs  say,  it  seared  Hester's  bosom  so  deeply,  that 
perhaps  there  was  more  truth  in  the  rumor  than  our  modern 
incredulity  may  be  inclined  to  admit. 


VI. 


PEARL. 


WE  have  as  yet  hardly  spoken 
,    of  the  infant ;  that  little  crea- 
ture, whose  innocent  life  had 
sprung,  by  the  inscrutable  de- 
cree  of  Providence,   a  lovely 
and  immortal  flower,   out  of 
,   the  rank  luxuriance  of  a  guilty 
j   passion.  How  strange  it  seemed 
to    the    sad    Avoman,   as    she 
watched  the  growth,  and  the 
beauty  that  became  every  day 
more  brilliant,  and  the  intelli- 
gence that  threw  its  quivering 
sunshine  over  the  tiny  features 
of  this  child  !     Her  Pearl !  — 
For  so  had  Hester  called  her; 
not  as  a  name  expressive  of  her  aspect,  which  had  nothing  of 
the  calm,   white,   unimpassioned  lustre  that  would  be  indicated 
by  the  comparison.     But  she  named  the  infant  "  Pearl/'  as  being 


PEARL.  105 

of  great  price,  —  purchased  with  all  she  had,  —  her  mother's  only 
treasure  !  How  strange,  indeed  !  Man  had  marked  this  woman's 
sin  by  a  scarlet  letter,  which  had  snch  potent  and  disastrous 
efficacy  that  no  human  sympathy  could  reach  her,  save  it  were 
sinful  like  herself.  God,  as  a  direct  consequence  of  the  sin  which 
man  thus  punished,  had  given  her  a  lovely  child,  whose  place 
was  on  that  same  dishonored  bosom,  to  connect  her  parent  forever 
with  the  race  and  descent  of  mortals,  and  to  be  finally  a  blessed 
soul  in  heaven !  Yet  these  thoughts  affected  Hester  Prynne  less 
with  hope  than  apprehension.  She  knew  that  her  deed  had  been 
evil;  she  could  have  no  faith,  therefore,  that  its  result  would 
be  good.  Day  after  day,  she  looked  fearfully  into  the  child's 
expanding  nature,  ever  dreading  to  detect  some  dark  and  wild 
peculiarity,  that  should  correspond  with  the  guiltiness  to  which 
she  owed  her  being. 

Certainly,  there  was  no  physical  defect.  By  its  perfect  shape, 
its  vigor,  and  its  natural  dexterity  in  the  use  of  all  its  untried 
limbs,  the  infant  was  worthy  to  have  been  brought  forth  in  Eden ; 
worthy  to  have  been  left  there,  to  be  the  plaything  of  the  angels, 
after  the  world's  first  parents  were  driven  out.  The  child  had  a 
native  grace  which  does  not  invariably  coexist  with  faultless 
beauty;  its  attire,  however  simple,  always  impressed  the  beholder 
as  if  it  were  the  very  garb  that  precisely  became  it  best.  But 
little  Pearl  was  not  clad  in  rustic  weeds.  Her  mother,  with  a 
morbid  purpose  that  may  be  better  understood  hereafter,  had 
bought  the  richest  tissues  that  could  be  procured,  and  allowed 
her  imaginative  faculty  its  full  play  in  the  arrangement  and  deco- 
ration of  the  dresses  which  the  child  wore,  before  the  public  eye. 
So  magnificent  was  the  small  figure,  when  thus  arrayed,  and  such 
was  the  splendor  of  Pearl's  own  proper  beauty,  shining  through 


106  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

the  gorgeous  robes  which  might  have  extinguished  a  paler  love- 
liness, that  there  was  an  absolute  circle  of  radiance  around  her, 
on  the  darksome  cottage  floor.  And  yet  a  russet  gown,  torn 
and  soiled  with  the  child's  rude  play,  made  a  picture  of  her  just 
as  perfect.  Pearl's  aspect  was  imbued  with  a  spell  of  infinite 
variety;  in  this  one  child  there  were  many  children,  compre- 
hending the  full  scope  between  the  wild-flower  prettiness  of  a 
peasant-baby,  and  the  pomp,  in  little,  of  an  infant  princess. 
Throughout  all,  however,  there  was  a  trait  of  passion,  a  certain 
depth  of  hue,  which  she  never  lost ;  and  if,  in  any  of  her  changes, 
she  had  grown  fainter  or  paler,  she  would  have  ceased  to  be  her- 
self, —  it  would  have  been  no  longer  Pearl ! 

This  outward  mutability  indicated,  and  did  not  more  than  fairly 
express,  the  various  properties  of  her  inner  life.  Her  nature 
appeared  to  possess  depth,  too,  as  well  as  variety;  but  —  or  else 
Hester's  fears  deceived  her  —  it  lacked  reference  and  adaptation 
to  the  world  into  which  she  was  born.  The  child  could  not  be 
made  amenable  to  rules.  In  giving  her  existence,  a  great  law 
had  been  broken;  and  the  result  was  a  being  whose  elements 
were  perhaps  beautiful  and  brilliant,  but  all  in  disorder;  or  with 
an  order  peculiar  to  themselves,  amidst  which  the  point  of  variety 
and  arrangement  was  difficult  or  impossible  to  be  discovered. 
Hester  could  only  account  for  the  child's  character  —  and  even 
then  most  vaguely  and  imperfectly  —  by  recalling  what  she  her- 
self had  been,  during  that  momentous  period  while  Pearl  was 
imbibing  her  soul  from  the  spiritual  world,  and  her  bodily  frame 
from  its  material  of  earth.  The  mother's  impassioned  state  had 
been  the  medium  through  which  were  transmitted  to  the  unborn 
infant  the  rays  of  its  moral  life;  and,  however  white  and  clear 
originally,  they  had  taken  the  deep  stains  of  crimson  and  gold, 


PEARL.  107 

the  fiery  lustre,  the  black  shadow,  and  the  untempered  light  of 
the  intervening  substance.  Above  all,  the  warfare  of  Hester's 
spirit,  at  that  epoch,  was  perpetuated  in  Pearl.  She  could  recog- 
nize her  wild,  desperate,  defiant  mood,  the  flightiness  of  her 
temper,  and  even  some  of  the  very  cloud-shapes  of  gloom  and 
despondency  that  had  brooded  in  her  heart.  They  were  now 
illuminated  by  the  morning  radiance  of  a  young  child's  disposi- 
tion, but  later  in  the  day  of  earthly  existence  might  be  prolific 
of  the  storm  and  whirlwind. 

The  discipline  of  the  family,  in  those  days,  was  of  a  far  more 
rigid  kind  than  now.  The  frown,  the  harsh  rebuke,  the  frequent 
application  of  the  rod,  enjoined  by  Scriptural  authority,  were 
used,  not  merely  in  the  way  of  punishment  for  actual  offences, 
but  as  a  wholesome  regimen  for  the  growth  and  promotion  of  all 
childish  virtues.  Hester  Prynne,  nevertheless,  the  lonely  mother 
of  this  one  child,  ran  little  risk  of  erring  on  the  side  of  undue 
severity.  Mindful,  however,  of  her  own  errors  and  misfortunes, 
she  early  sought  to  impose  a  tender,  but  strict  control  over  the 
infant  immortality  that  was  committed  to  her  charge.  But  the 
task  was  beyond  her  skill.  After  testing  both  smiles  and  frowns, 
and  proving  that  neither  mode  of  treatment  possessed  any  calcu- 
lable influence,  Hester  was  ultimately  compelled  to  stand  aside, 
and  permit  the  child  to  be  swayed  by  her  own  impulses.  Phys- 
ical compulsion  or  restraint  was  effectual,  of  course,  while  it 
lasted.  As  to  any  other  kind  of  discipline,  whether  addressed 
to  her  mind  or  heart,  little  Pearl  might  or  might  not  be  within 
its  reach,  in  accordance  with  the  caprice  that  ruled  the  moment. 
Her  mother,  while  Pearl  was  yet  an  infant,  grew  acquainted  with 
a  certain  peculiar  look,  that  warned  her  when  it  would  be  labor 
thrown  away   to  insist,  persuade,  or  plead.     It  was  a  look   so 


108  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

intelligent,  yet  inexplicable,  so  perverse,  sometimes  so  malicious, 
but  generally  accompanied  by  a  wild  flow  of  spirits,  that  Hester 
could  not  help  questioning,  at  such  moments,  whether  Pearl  were 
a  human  child.  She  seemed  rather  an  airy  sprite,  which,  after 
playing  its  fantastic  sports  for  a  little  while  upon  the  cottage 
floor,  would  flit  away  with  a  mocking  smile.  Whenever  that 
look  appeared  in  her  wild,  bright,  deeply  black  eyes,  it  invested 
her  with  a  strange  remoteness  and  intangibility;  it  was  as  if  she 
were  hovering  in  the  air  and  might  vanish,  like  a  glimmering 
light,  that  comes  we  know  not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not 
whither.  Beholding  it,  Hester  was  constrained  to  rush  towards 
the  child,  —  to  pursue  the  little  elf  in  the  flight  which  she  inva- 
riably began,  —  to  snatch  her  to  her  bosom,  with  a  close  pressure 
and  earnest  kisses,  —  not  so  much  from  overflowing  love,  as  to 
assure  herself  that  Pearl  was  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  utterly 
delusive.  But  Pearl's  laugh,  when  she  was  caught,  though  full  of 
merriment  and  music,  made  her  mother  more  doubtful  than  before. 
Heart-smitten  at  this  bewildering  and  baffling  spell,  that  so 
often  came  between  herself  and  her  sole  treasure,  whom  she  had 
bought  so  dear,  and  who  was  all  her  world,  Hester  sometimes 
burst  into  passionate  tears.  Then,  perhaps,  —  for  there  was  no 
foreseeing  how  it  might  affect  her,  —  Pearl  would  frown,  and 
clench  her  little  fist,  and  harden  her  small  features  into  a  stern, 
unsympathizing  look  of  discontent.  Not  seldom,  she  would  laugh 
anew,  and  louder  than  before,  like  a  thing  incapable  and  unin- 
telligent of  human  sorrow.  Or  —  but  this  more  rarely  hap- 
pened—  she  would  be  convulsed  with  a  rage  of  grief,  and  sob 
out  her  love  for  her  mother,  in  broken  words,  and  seem  intent 
on  proving  that  she  had  a  heart,  by  breaking  it.  Yet  Hester 
was  hardly  safe  in   confiding  herself  to   that  gusty  tenderness; 


PEARL.  109 

it  passed,  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  Brooding  over  all  these 
matters,  the  mother  felt  like  one  who  has  evoked  a  spirit,  but, 
by  some  irregularity  in  the  process  of  conjuration,  has  failed  to 
win  the  master-word  that  should  control  this  new  and  incompre- 
hensible intelligence.  Her  only  real  comfort  was  when  the  child 
lay  in  the  placidity  of  sleep.  Then  she  was  sure  of  her,  and 
tasted  hours  of  quiet,  sad,  delicious  happiness;  until  —  perhaps 
with  that  perverse  expression  glimmering  from  beneath  her  open- 
ing lids  —  little  Pearl  awoke  ! 

How  soon  —  with  what  strange  rapidity,  indeed !  —  did  Pearl 
arrive  at  an  age  that  was  capable  of  social  intercourse,  beyond 
the  mother's  ever-ready  smile  and  nonsense-words  !  And  then 
what  a  happiness  would  it  have  been,  could  Hester  Prynne  have 
heard  her  clear,  bird-like  voice  mingling  with  the  uproar  of 
other  childish  voices,  and  have  distinguished  and  unravelled  her 
own  darling's  tones,  amid  all  the  entangled  outcry  of  a  group  of 
sportive  children !  But  this  could  never  be.  Pearl  was  a  born 
outcast  of  the  infantile  world.  An  imp  of  evil,  emblem  and 
product  of  sin,  she  had  no  right  among  christened  infants.  Noth- 
ing was  more  remarkable  than  the  instinct,  as  it  seemed,  with 
which  the  child  comprehended  her  loneliness ;  the  destiny  that 
had  draAvn  an  inviolable  circle  round  about  her;  the  whole  pecu- 
liarity, in  short,  of  her  position  in  respect  to  other  children. 
Never,  since  her  release  from  prison,  had  Hester  met  the  public 
gaze  without  her.  In  all  her  walks  about  the  town,  Pearl,  too, 
was  there;  first  as  the  babe  in  arms,  and  afterwards  as  the  little 
girl,  small  companion  of  her  mother,  holding  a  forefinger  with 
her  whole  grasp,  and  tripping  along  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four 
footsteps  to  one  of  Hester's.  She  saw  the  children  of  the  settle- 
ment, on  the   grassy  margin   of  the   street,  or   at  the  domestic 


110         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

thresholds,  disporting  themselves  in  such  grim  fashion  as  the 
Puritanic  nurture  would  permit ;  playing  at  going  to  church, 
perchance ;  or  at  scourging  Quakers ;  or  taking  scalps  in  a 
sham-fight  with  the  Indians;  or  scaring  one  another  with  freaks 
of  imitative  witchcraft.  Pearl  saw,  and  gazed  intently,  but  never 
sought  to  make  acquaintance.  If  spoken  to,  she  would  not  speak 
again.  If  the  children  gathered  about  her,  as  they  sometimes  did, 
Pearl  would  grow  positively  terrible  in  her  puny  wrath,  snatching 
up  stones  to  fling  at  them,  with  shrill,  incoherent  exclamations, 
that  made  her  mother  tremble,  because  they  had  so  much  the 
sound  of  a  witch's  anathemas  in  some  unknown  tongue. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  little  Puritans,  being  of  the  most  intol- 
erant brood  that  ever  lived,  had  got  a  vague  idea  of  something 
outlandish,  unearthly,  or  at  variance  with  ordinary  fashions,  in 
the  mother  and  child;  and  therefore  scorned  them  in  their  hearts, 
and  not  unfrequently  reviled  them  with  their  tongues.  Pearl  felt 
the  sentiment,  and  requited  it  with  the  bitterest  hatred  that  can 
be  supposed  to  rankle  in  a  childish  bosom.  These  outbreaks  of 
a  fierce  temper  had  a  kind  of  value,  and  even  comfort,  for  her 
mother;  because  there  was  at  least  an  intelligible  earnestness 
in  the  mood,  instead  of  the  fitful  caprice  that  so  often  thwarted 
her  in  the  child's  manifestations.  It  appalled  her,  nevertheless, 
to  discern  here,  again,  a  shadowy  reflection  of  the  evil  that  had 
existed  in  herself.  All  this  enmity  and  passion  had  Pearl  inher- 
ited, by  inalienable  right,  out  of  Hester's  heart.  Mother  and 
daughter  stood  together  in  the  same  circle  of  seclusion  from 
human  society;  and  in  the  nature  of  the  child  seemed  to  be 
perpetuated  those  unquiet  elements  that  had  distracted  Hester 
Prynne  before  Pearl's  birth,  but  had  since  begun  to  be  soothed 
away  by  the  softening  influences  of  maternity. 


PEARL.  Ill 

At  home,  within  and  around  her  mother's  cottage,  Pearl  wanted 
not  a  wide  and  various  circle  of  acquaintance.  The  spell  of  life 
went  forth  from  her  ever-creative  spirit,  and  communicated  itself 
to  a  thousand  objects,  as  a  torch  kindles  a  flame  wherever  it 
may  be  applied.  The  unlikeliest  materials  —  a  stick,  a  bunch 
of  rags,  a  flower  —  were  the  puppets  of  Pearl's  witchcraft,  and, 
without  undergoing  any  outward  change,  became  spiritually 
adapted  to  whatever  drama  occupied  the  stage  of  her  inner 
world.  Her  one  baby-voice  served  a  multitude  of  imaginary 
personages,  old  and  young,  to  talk  withal.  The  pine-trees,  aged, 
black  and  solemn,  and  flinging  groans  and  other  melancholy 
utterances  on  the  breeze,  needed  little  transformation  to  figure 
as  Puritan  elders;  the  ugliest  weeds  of  the  garden  were  their 
children,  whom  Pearl  smote  down  and  uprooted,  most  unmerci- 
fully. It  was  wonderful,  the  vast  variety  of  forms  into  which 
she  threw  her  intellect,  with  no  continuity,  indeed,  but  darting 
up  and  dancing,  always  in  a  state  of  preternatural  activity, — 
soon  sinking  down,  as  if  exhausted  by  so  rapid  and  feverish  a 
tide  of  life,  —  and  succeeded  by  other  shapes  of  a  similar  wild 
energy.  It  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  the  phantasmagoric  play 
of  the  northern  lights.  In  the  mere  exercise  of  the  fancy,  how-f 
ever,  and  the  sportiveness  of  a  growing  mind,  there  might  be 
little  more  than  was  observable  in  other  children  of  bright  facul- 
ties; except  as  Pearl,  in  the  dearth  of  human  playmates,  was 
thrown  more  upon  the  visionary  throng  which  she  created.  The 
singularity  lay  in  the  hostile  feelings  with  which  the  child  regarded 
all  these  offspring  of  her  own  heart  and  mind.  She  never  created 
a  friend,  but  seemed  always  to  be  sowing  broadcast  the  dragon's 
teeth,  whence  sprung  a  harvest  of  armed  enemies,  against  whom 
she    rushed    to    battle.     It  was   inexpressibly   sad  —  then    what 


112  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

depth  of  sorrow  to  a  mother,  who  felt  in  her  own  heart  the 
cause !  —  to  observe,  in  one  so  young,  this  constant  recognition 
of  an  adverse  world,  and  so  fierce  a  training  of  the  energies  that 
were  to  make  good  her  cause,  in  the  contest  that  must  ensue. 

Gazing  at  Pearl,  Hester  Prynne  often  dropped  her  work  upon 
her  knees,  and  cried  out  with  an  agony  which  she  would  fain 
have  hidden,  but  which  made  utterance  for  itself,  betwixt  speech 
and  a  groan,  —  "0  Father  in  Heaven,  —  if  Thou  art  still  my 
Father,  —  what  is  this  being  which  I  have  brought  into  the 
world  ! "  And  Pearl,  overhearing  the  ejaculation,  or  aware,  through 
some  more  subtile  channel,  of  those  throbs  of  anguish,  would  turn 
her  vivid  and  beautiful  little  face  upon  her  mother,  smile  with 
sprite-like  intelligence,  and  resume  her  play. 

One  peculiarity  of  the  child's  deportment  remains  yet  to  be 
told.  The  very  first  thing  which  she  had  noticed  in  her  life  was 
—  what  ?  —  not  the  mother's  smile,  responding  to  it,  as  other 
babies  do,  by  that  faint,  embryo  smile  of  the  little  mouth,  remem- 
bered so  doubtfully  afterwards,  and  with  such  fond  discussion 
whether  it  were  indeed  a  smile.  By  no  means !  But  that  first 
object  of  which  Pearl  seemed  to  become  aware  was  —  shall  we 
say  it  ?  —  the  scarlet  letter  on  Hester's  bosom !  One  day,  as 
her  mother  stooped  over  the  cradle,  the  infant's  eyes  had  been 
caught  by  the  glimmering  of  the  gold  embroidery  about  the  letter ; 
and,  putting  up  her  little  hand,  she  grasped  at  it,  smiling,  not 
doubtfully,  but  with  a  decided  gleam,  that  gave  her  face  the 
look  of  a  much  older  child.  Then,  gasping  for  breath,  did 
Hester  Prynne  clutch  the  fatal  token,  instinctively  endeavoring 
to  tear  it  away;  so  infinite  was  the  torture  inflicted  by  the  intel- 
ligent touch  of  Pearl's  baby -hand.  Again,  as  if  her  mother's  ago- 
nized gesture  were  meant  only  to  make  sport  for  her,  did  little 


PEARL.  115 

Pearl  look  into  her  eyes,  and  smile !  Prom  that  epoch,  except 
when  the  child  was  asleep,  Hester  had  never  felt  a  moment's 
safety;  not  a  moment's  calm  enjoyment  of  her.  Weeks,  it  is 
true,  would  sometimes  elapse,  during  which  Pearl's  gaze  might 
never  once  be  fixed  upon  the  scarlet  letter;  but  then,  again,  it 
would  come  at  unawares,  like  the  stroke  of  sudden  death,  and 
always  with  that  peculiar  smile,  and  odd  expression  of  the  eyes. 

Once,  this  freakish,  elvish  cast  came  into  the  child's  eyes, 
while  Hester  was  looking  at  her  own  image  in  them,  as  mothers 
are  fond  of  doing ;  and,  suddenly,  —  for  women  in  solitude,  and 
with  troubled  hearts,  are  pestered  with  unaccountable  delusions, — 
she  fancied  that  she  beheld,  not  her  own  miniature  portrait,  but 
another  face,  in  the  small  black  mirror  of  Pearl's  eye.  It  was 
a  face,  fiend-like,  full  of  smiling  malice,  yet  bearing  the  semblance 
of  features  that  she  had  known  full  well,  though  seldom  with  a 
smile,  and  never  with  malice  in  them.  It  was  as  if  an  evil  spirit 
possessed  the  child,  and  had  just  then  peeped  forth  in  mockery. 
Many  a  time  afterwards  had  Hester  been  tortured,  though  less 
vividly,  by  the  same  illusion. 

In  the  afternoon  of  a  certain  summer's  day,  after  Pearl  grew 
big  enough  to  run  about,  she  amused  herself  with  gathering 
handfuls  of  wild-flowers,  and  flinging  them,  one  by  one,  at  her 
mother's  bosom;  dancing  up  and  down,  like  a  little  elf,  when- 
ever she  hit  the  scarlet  letter.  Hester's  first  motion  had  been 
to  cover  her  bosom  with  her  clasped  hands.  But,  whether  from 
pride  or  resignation,  or  a  feeling  that  her  penance  might  best 
be  wrought  out  by  this  unutterable  pain,  she  resisted  the  impulse, 
and  sat  erect,  pale  as  death,  looking  sadly  into  little  Pearl's 
wild  eyes.  Still  came  the  battery  of  flowers,  almost  invariably 
hitting  the  mark,    and   covering  the   mother's  breast  with   hurts 


116  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

for  which  she  could  find  no  balm  in  this  world,  nor  knew  how 
to  seek  it  in  another.  At  last,  her  shot  being  all  expended,  the 
child  stood  still  and  gazed  at  Hester,  with  that  little,  laughing 
image  of  a  fiend  peeping  out  —  or,  whether  it  peeped  or  no, 
her  mother  so  imagined  it  —  from  the  unsearchable  abyss  of  her 
black  eyes. 

"Child,  what  art  thou?"  cried  the  mother. 

"  O,  I  am  your  little  Pearl ! "  answered  the  child. 

But,  while  she  said  it,  Pearl  laughed,  and  began  to  dance 
up  and  down,  with  the  humorsome  gesticulation  of  a  little  imp, 
whose  next  freak  might  be  to  fly  up  the  chimney. 

"  Art  thou  my  child,  in  very  truth  ?  **  asked  Hester. 

Nor  did  she  put  the  question  altogether  idly,  but,  for  the 
moment,  with  a  portion  of  genuine  earnestness;  for,  such  was 
Pearl's  wonderful  intelligence,  that  her  mother  half  doubted 
whether  she  were  not  acquainted  with  the  secret  spell  of  her 
existence,  and  might  not  now  reveal  herself. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  little  Pearl ! "  repeated  the  child,  continuing 
her  antics. 

"  Thou  art  not  my  child  !  Thou  art  no  Pearl  of  mine ! " 
said  the  mother,  half  playfully;  for  it  was  often  the  case  that 
a  sportive  impulse  came  over  her,  in  the  midst  of  her  deepest 
suffering.  "  Tell  me,  then,  what  thou  art,  and  who  sent  thee 
hither." 

"  Tell  me,  mother ! "  said  the  child,  seriously,  coming  up  to 
Hester,  and  pressing  herself  close  to  her  knees.  "Do  thou  tell 
me!" 

"  Thy  Heavenly  Father  sent  thee ! "   answered  Hester  Prynne. 

But  she  said  it  with  a  hesitation  that  did  not  escape  the  acute- 
ness  of  the  child.     Whether  moved  only  by  her  ordinary  freak- 


PEARL.  117 

ishness,  or  because  an  evil  spirit  prompted  her,  she  put  up  her 
small  forefinger,  and  touched  the  scarlet  letter. 

"  He  did  not  send  me  ! "  cried  she,  positively.  "  I  have  no 
Heavenly  Father!" 

"  Hush,  Pearl,  hush !  Thou  must  not  talk  so  ! "  answered 
the  mother,  suppressing  a  groan.  "  He  sent  us  all  into  this 
world.  He  sent  even  me,  thy  mother.  Then,  much  more,  thee ! 
Or,  if  not,  thou  strange  and  elfish  child,  whence  didst  thou 
come  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  !  Tell  me ! "  repeated  Pearl,  no  longer  seriously, 
but  laughing,  and  capering  about  the  floor.  "It  is  thou  that 
must  tell  me  !  ** 

But  Hester  could  not  resolve  the  query,  being  herself  in  a  dis- 
mal labyrinth  of  doubt.  She  remembered  —  betwixt  a  smile  and 
a  shudder  —  the  talk  of  the  neighboring  towns-people ;  who,  seek- 
ing vainly  elsewhere  for  the  child's  paternity,  and  observing  some 
of  her  odd  attributes,  had  given  out  that  poor  little  Pearl  was 
a  demon  offspring;  such  as,  ever  since  old  Catholic  times,  had 
occasionally  been  seen  on  earth,  through  the  agency  of  their 
mother's  sin,  and  to  promote  some  foul  and  wicked  purpose. 
Luther,  according  to  the  scandal  of  his  monkish  enemies,  was 
a  brat  of  that  hellish  breed;  nor  was  Pearl  the  only  child  to 
whom  this  inauspicious  origin  was  assigned,  among  the  New 
England  Puritans. 


YH. 


THE   GOVERNOR'S   HALL. 


HESTER  PRYNNE 
went,  one  day,  to  the 
mansion  of  Governor 
Bellingham,  with  a 
pair  of  gloves,  which 
she  had  fringed  and 
embroidered  to  his  or- 
der, and  which  were 
to  be  worn  on  some 
great  occasion  of 
state ;  for,  though  the 
chances  of  a  popular 
election  had  caused 
this  former  ruler  to  descend  a  step  or  two  from  the  highest 
rank,  he  still  held  an  honorable  and  influential  place  among  the 
colonial  magistracy. 

Another  and  far  more  important  reason  than  the  delivery  of 
a  pair  of  embroidered  gloves  impelled  Hester,  at  this  time,  to 
seek  an  interview  with  a  personage  of  so  much  power  and  activity 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  119 

in  the  affairs  of  the  settlement.  It  had  reached  her  ears,  that 
there  was  a  design  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  leading  inhabitants, 
cherishing  the  more  rigid  order  of  principles  in  religion  and 
government,  to  deprive  her  of  Jner  child.  On  the  supposition 
that  Pearl,  as  already  hinted,  was  of  demon  origin,  these  good 
people  not  unreasonably  argued  that  a  Christian  interest  in  the 
mother's  soul  required  them  to  remove  such  a  stumbling-block 
from  her  path.  If  the  child,  on  the  other  hand,  were  really 
capable  of  moral  and  religious  growth,  and  possessed  the  ele- 
ments of  ultimate  salvation,  then,  surely,  it  would  enjoy  all  the 
fairer  prospect  of  these  advantages,  by  being  transferred  to  wiser 
and  better  guardianship  than  Hester  Prynne's.  Among  those 
who  promoted  the  design,  Governor  Bellingham  was  said  to  be 
one  of  the  most  busy.  It  may  appear  singular,  and  indeed,  not 
a  little  ludicrous,  that  an  affair  of  this  kind,  which,  in  later 
days,  would  have  been  referred  to  no  higher  jurisdiction  than 
that  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town,  should  then  have  been  a  ques- 
tion publicly  discussed,  and  on  which  statesmen  of  eminence  took 
sides.  At  that  epoch  of  pristine  simplicity,  however,  matters 
of  even  slighter  public  interest,  and  of  far  less  intrinsic  weight, 
than  the  welfare  of  Hester  and  her  child,  were  strangely  mixed 
up  with  the  deliberations  of  legislators  and  acts  of  state.  The 
period  was  hardly,  if  at  all,  earlier  than  that  of  our  story,  when 
a  dispute  concerning  the  right  of  property  in  a  pig  not  oidy 
caused  a  fierce  and  bitter  contest  in  the  legislative  body  of  the 
colony,  but  resulted  in  an  important  modification  of  the  frame- 
work itself  of  the  legislature. 

Pull  of  concern,  therefore,  —  but  so  conscious  of  her  own  right 
that  it  seemed  scarcely  an  unequal  match  between  the  public, 
on  the  one  side,  and  a  lonely  woman,  backed  by  the  sympathies 


120  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  nature,  on  the  other,  —  Hester  Prynne  set  forth  from  her  soli- 
tary cottage.  Little  Pearl,  of  course,  was  her  companion.  She 
was  now  of  an,  age  to  run  lightly  along  by  her  mother's  side, 
and,  constantly  in  motion,  from  morn  till  sunset,  could  have 
accomplished  a  much  longer  journey  than  that  before  her.  Often, 
nevertheless,  more  from  caprice  than  necessity,  she  demanded  to 
be  taken  up  in  arms ;  but  was  soon  as  imperious  to  be  set  down 
again,  and  frisked  onward  before  Hester  on  the  grassy  pathway, 
with  many  a  harmless  trip  and  tumble.  We  have  spoken  of 
Pearl's  rich  and  luxuriant  beauty ;  a  beauty  that  shone  with  deep 
and  vivid  tints;  a  bright  complexion,  eyes  possessing  intensity 
both  of  depth  and  glow,  and  hair  already  of  a  deep,  glossy  brown, 
and  which,  in  after  years,  would  be  nearly  akin  to  black.  There 
was  fire  in  her  and  throughout  her;  she  seemed  the  unpremedi- 
tated offshoot  of  a  passionate  moment.  Her  mother,  in  contriving 
the  child's  garb,  had  allowed  the  gorgeous  tendencies  of  her 
imagination  their  full  play ;  arraying  her  in  a  crimson  velvet 
tunic,  of  a  peculiar  cut,  abundantly  embroidered  with  fantasies 
and  flourishes  of  gold-thread.  So  much  strength  of  coloring, 
which  must  have  given  a  wan  and  pallid  aspect  to  cheeks  of  a 
fainter  bloom,  was  admirably  adapted  to  Pearl's  beauty,  and  made 
her  the  very  brightest  little  jet  of  flame  that  ever  danced  upon 
the  earth. 

But  it  was  a  remarkable  attribute  of  this  garb,  and,  indeed, 
of  the  child's  whole  appearance,  that  it  irresistibly  and  inevi- 
tably reminded  the  beholder  of  the  token  which  Hester  Prynne 
was  doomed  to  wear  upon  her  bosom.  It  was  the  scarlet  letter 
in  another  form ;  the  scarlet  letter  endowed  with  life  1  The 
mother  herself — as  if  the  red  ignominy  were  so  deeply  scorched 
into  her  brain  that  all  her  conceptions  assumed  its  form  —  had 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  121 

carefully  wrought  out  the  similitude;  lavishing  many  hours  of 
morbid  ingenuity,  to  create  an  analogy  between  the  object  of  her 
affection  and  the  emblem  of  her  guilt  and  torture.  But,  in 
truth,  Pearl  was  the  one,  as  well  as  the  other;  and  only  in  con- 
sequence of  that  identity  had  Hester  contrived  so  perfectly  to 
represent  the  scarlet  letter  in  her  appearance. 

As  the  two  wayfarers  came  within  the  precincts  of  the  town, 
the  children  of  the  Puritans  looked  up  from  their  play,  —  or 
what  passed  for  play  with  those  sombre  little  urchins,  —  and 
spake  gravely  one  to  another :  — 

" Behold,  verily,  there  is  the  woman  of  the  scarlet  letter;  and, 
of  a  truth,  moreover,  there  is  the  likeness  of  the  scarlet  letter 
running  along  by  her  side !  Come,  therefore,  and  let  us  fling 
mud  at  them  !  " 

But  Pearl,  who  was  a  dauntless  child,  after  frowning,  stamp- 
ing her  foot,  and  shaking  her  little  hand  with  a  variety  of  threat- 
ening gestures,  suddenly  made  a  rush  at  the  knot  of  her  enemies, 
and  put  them  all  to  flight.  She  resembled,  in  her  fierce  pursuit 
of  them,  an  infant  pestilence,  —  the  scarlet  fever,  or  some  such 
half-fledged  angel  of  judgment,  —  whose  mission  was  to  punish 
the  sins  of  the  rising  generation.  She  screamed  and  shouted, 
too,  with  a  terrific  volume  of  sound,  which,  doubtless,  caused 
the  hearts  of  the  fugitives  to  quake  within  them.  The  victory 
accomplished,  Pearl  returned  quietly  to  her  mother,  and  looked 
up,  smiling,  into  her  face. 

Without  further  adventure,  they  reached  the  dwelling  of  Gov- 
ernor Bellingham.  This  was  a  large  wooden  house,  built  in  a 
fashion  of  which  there  are  specimens  still  extant  in  the  streets 
of  our  older  towns;  now  moss-grown,  crumbling  to  decay,  and 
melancholy  at   heart  with   the  many  sorrowful  or  joyful  occur- 


122         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

rences,  remembered  or  forgotten,  that  have  happened,  and  passed 
away,  within  their  dusky  chambers.  Then,  however,  there  was 
the  freshness  of  the  passing  year  on  its  exterior,  and  the  cheer- 
fulness, gleaming  forth  from  the  sunny  windows,  of  a  human 
habitation,  into  which  death  had  never  entered.  It  had,  indeed, 
a  very  cheery  aspect;  the  walls  being  overspread  with  a  kind 
of  stucco,  in  which  fragments  of  broken  glass  were  plentifully 
intermixed;  so  that,  when  the  sunshine  fell  aslant- wise  over  the 
front  of  the  edifice,  it  glittered  and  sparkled  as  if  diamonds 
had  been  flung  against  it  by  the  double  handful.  The  brill- 
iancy might  have  befitted  Aladdin's  palace,  rather  than  the  man- 
sion of  a  grave  old  Puritan  ruler.  It  was  further  decorated  with 
strange  and  seemingly  cabalistic  figures  and  diagrams,  suitable 
to  the  quaint  taste  of  the  age,  which  had  been  drawn  in  the 
stucco  when  newly  laid  on,  and  had  now  grown  hard  and  dura- 
ble, for  the  admiration  of  after  times. 

Pearl,  looking  at  this  bright  wonder  of  a  house,  began  to  caper 
and  dance,  and  imperatively  required  that  the  whole  breadth 
of  sunshine  should  be  stripped  off  its  front,  and  given  her  to 
play  with. 

"  No,  my  little  Pearl !  "  said  her  mother.  "  Thou  must  gather 
thine  own  sunshine.     I  have  none  to  give  thee ! " 

They  approached  the  door;  which  was  of  an  arched  form, 
and  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  narrow  tower  or  projection  of 
the  edifice,  in  both  of  which  were  lattice-windows,  with  wooden 
shutters  to  close  over  them  at  need.  Lifting  the  iron  hammer 
that  hung  at  the  portal,  Hester  Prynne  gave  a  summons,  which 
was  answered  by  one  of  the  Governor's  bond-servants;  a  free- 
born  Englishman,  but  now  a  seven  years'  slave.  During  that 
term  he  was  to  be  the  property  of  his  master,  and  as  much  a 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  123 

commodity  of  bargain  and  sale  as  an  ox,  or  a  joint-stool.  The 
serf  wore  the  blue  coat,  which  was  the  customary  garb  of  serving- 
men  of  that  period,  and  long  before,  in  the  old  hereditary  halls 
of  England. 

"Is  the  worshipful  Governor  Bellingham  within?"  inquired 
Hester. 

"Yea,  forsooth,"  replied  the  bond-servant,  staring  with  wide- 
open  eyes  at  the  scarlet  letter,  which,  being  a  new-comer  in 
the  country,  he  had  never  before  seen.  "Yea,  his  honorable 
worship  is  within.  But  he  hath  a  godly  minister  or  two  with 
him,  and  likewise  a  leech.      Ye  may  not  see  his  worship  now." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  enter,"  answered  Hester  Prynne,  and 
the  bond-servant,  perhaps  judging  from  the  decision  of  her  air, 
and  the  glittering  symbol  in  her  bosom,  that  she  was  a  great 
lady  in  the  land,  offered  no  opposition. 

So  the  mother  and  little  Pearl  were  admitted  into  the  hall  of 
entrance.  With  many  variations,  suggested  by  the  nature  of  his 
building-materials,  diversity  of  climate,  and  a  different  mode  of 
social  life,  Governor  Bellingham  had  planned  his  new  habitation 
after  the  residences  of  gentlemen  of  fair  estate  in  his  native  land. 
Here,  then,  was  a  wide  and  reasonably  lofty  hall,  extending 
through  the  whole  depth  of  the  house,  and  forming  a  medium 
of  general  communication,  more  or  less  directly,  with  all  the 
other  apartments.  At  one  extremity,  this  spacious  room  was 
lighted  by  the  windows  of  the  two  towers,  which  formed  a  small 
recess  on  either  side  of  the  portal.  At  the  other  end,  though 
partly  muffled  by  a  curtain,  it  was  more  powerfully  illuminated 
by  one  of  those  embowed  hall-windows  which  we  read  of  in  old 
books,  and  which  was  provided  with  a  deep  and  cushioned  seat. 
Here,  on  the  cushion,  lay  a  folio  tome,  probably  of  the  Chronicles 


124  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  England,  or  other  such  substantial  literature;  even  as,  in  our 
own  days,  we  scatter  gilded  volumes  on  the  centre-table,  to  b ; 
turned  over  by  the  casual  guest.  The  furniture  of  the  hall  con- 
sisted of  some  ponderous  chairs,  the  backs  of  which  were  elabo- 
rately carved  with  wreaths  of  oaken  flowers;  and  likewise  a  table 
in  the  same  taste;  the  whole  being  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  or 
perhaps  earlier,  and  heirlooms,  transferred  hither  from  the  Gov- 
ernor's paternal  home.  On  the  table  —  in  token  that  the  senti- 
ment of  old  English  hospitality  had  not  been  left  behind  —  stood 
a  large  pewter  tankard,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  had  Hester  or 
Pearl  peeped  into  it,  they  might  have  seen  the  frothy  remnant 
of  a  recent  draught  of  ale. 

On  the  wall  hung  a  row  of  portraits,  representing  the  fore- 
fathers of  the  Bellingham  lineage,  some  with  armor  on  their 
breasts,  and  others  with  stately  ruffs  and  robes  of  peace.  All 
were  characterized  by  the  sternness  and  severity  which  old  por- 
traits so  invariably  put  on  ;  as  if  they  were  the  ghosts,  rather 
than  the  pictures,  of  departed  worthies,  and  were  gazing  with 
harsh  and  intolerant  criticism  at  the  pursuits  and  enjoyments  of 
living  men. 

At  about  the  centre  of  the  oaken  panels,  that  lined  the  hall, 
was  suspended  a  suit  of  mail,  not,  like  the  pictures,  an  ancestral 
relic,  but  of  the  most  modern  date;  for  it  had  been  manufac- 
tured by  a  skilful  armorer  in  London,  the  same  year  in  which 
Governor  Bellingham  came  over  to  New  England.  There  was  a 
steel  head-piece,  a  cuirass,  a  gorget,  and  greaves,  with  a  pair  of 
gauntlets  and  a  sword  hanging  beneath;  all,  and  especially  the 
helmet  and  breastplate,  so  highly  burnished  as  to  glow  with 
white  radiance,  and  scatter  an  illumination  everywhere  about 
upon  the   floor.     This   bright  panoply  was  not  meant  for   mere 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  127 

idle  show,  but  had  been  worn  by  the  Governor  on  many  a  solemn 
muster  and  training  field,  and  had  glittered,  moreover,  at  the 
head  of  a  regiment  in  the  Pequod  war.  For,  though  bred  a 
lawyer,  and  accustomed  to  speak  of  Bacon,  Coke,  Noye,  and 
Finch  as  his  professional  associates,  the  exigencies  of  this  new 
country  had  transformed  Governor  Bellingham  into  a  soldier,  as 
well  as  a  statesman  and  ruler. 

Little  Pearl  —  who  was  as  greatly  pleased  with  the  gleaming 
armor  as  she  had  been  with  the  glittering  frontispiece  of  the 
house  —  spent  some  time  looking  into  the  polished  mirror  of 
the  breastplate. 

"  Mother,"  cried  she,  "  I  see  you  here.     Look  !     Look  !  " 

Hester  looked,  by  way  of  humoring  the  child;  and  she  saw 
that,  owing  to  the  peculiar  effect  of  this  convex  mirror,  the 
scarlet  letter  was  represented  in  exaggerated  and  gigantic  pro- 
portions, so  as  to  be  greatly  the  most  prominent  feature  of  her 
appearance.  In  truth,  she  seemed  absolutely  hidden  behind  it. 
Pearl  pointed  upward,  also,  at  a  similar  picture  in  the  head- 
piece ;  smiling  at  her  mother,  with,  the  elfish  intelligence  that 
was  so  familiar  an  expression  on  her  small  physiognomy.  That 
look  of  naughty  merriment  was  likewise  reflected  in  the  mirror, 
with  so  much  breadth  and  intensity  of  effect,  that  it  made  Hester 
Prynne  feel  as  if  it  could  not  be  the  image  of  her  own  child, 
but  of  an  imp  who  was  seeking  to  mould  itself  into  Pearl's 
shape. 

"Come  along,  Pearl,"  said  she,  drawing  her  away.  "Come 
and  look  into  this  fair  garden.  It  may  be  we  shall  see  flowers 
there;    more  beautiful  ones  than  we  find  in  the  woods." 

Pearl,  accordingly,  ran  to  the  bow-window,  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  hall,  and  looked  along  the  vista  of  a  garden- walk,  carpeted 


128  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

with  closely  shaven  grass,  and  bordered  with  some  rude  and 
immature  attempt  at  shrubbery.  But  the  proprietor  appeared 
already  to  have  relinquished,  as  hopeless,  the  effort  to  perpetuate 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  in  a  hard  soil  and  amid  the  close 
struggle  for  subsistence,  the  native  English  taste  for  ornamental 
gardening.  Cabbages  grew  in  plain  sight;  and  a  pumpkin-vine, 
rooted  at  some  distance,  had  run  across  the  intervening  space, 
and  deposited  one  of  its  gigantic  products  directly  beneath  the 
hall- window;  as  if  to  warn  the  Governor  that  this  great  lump 
of  vegetable  gold  was  as  rich  an  ornament  as  New  England  earth 
would  offer  him.  There  were  a  few  rose-bushes,  however,  and  a 
number  of  apple-trees,  probably  the  descendants  of  those  planted 
by  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Blackstone,  the  first  settler  of  the  penin- 
sula; that  half-mythological  personage,  who  rides  through  our 
early  annals,  seated  on  the  back  of  a  bull. 

Pearl,  seeing  the  rose-bushes,  began  to  cry  for  a  red  rose, 
and  would  not  be  pacified. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush  ! "  said  her  mother,  earnestly.  "  Do  not 
cry,  dear  little  Pearl !  I  hear  voices  in  the  garden.  The  Gov- 
ernor is  coming,  and  gentlemen  along  with  him ! " 

In  fact,  adown  the  vista  of  the  garden  avenue  a  number  of 
persons  were  seen  approaching  towards  the  house.  Pearl,  in  utter 
scorn  of  her  mother's  attempt  to  quiet  her,  gave  an  eldritch 
scream,  and  then  became  silent;  not  from  any  notion  of  obedi- 
ence, but  because  the  quick  and  mobile  curiosity  of  her  dispo- 
sition was  excited  by  the  appearance  of  these  new  personages. 


VIII. 


THE   ELF-CHILD   AND   THE   MINISTER. 


OVERNOR  BELLINGHAM,  in  a  loose  gown 
and  easy  cap,  —  such  as  elderly  gentlemen 
loved  to  endue  themselves  with,  in  their 
domestic  privacy,  —  walked  foremost,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  showing  off  his  estate,  and 
expatiating  on  his  projected  improvements. 
The  wide  circumference  of  an  elaborate  ruff,  beneath  his  gray 
beard,  in  the  antiquated  fashion  of  King  James's  reign,  caused 
his  head  to  look  not  a  little  like  that  of  John  the  Baptist  in 
a  charger.  The  impression  made  by  his  aspect,  so  rigid  and 
severe,  and  frost-bitten  with  more  than  autumnal  age,  was  hardly 
in  keeping  with  the  appliances  of  worldly  enjoyment  wherewith 
he  had  evidently  done  his  utmost  to  surround  himself.  But  it 
is  an  error  to  suppose  that  our  grave  forefathers  —  though  accus- 
tomed to  speak  and  think  of  human  existence  as  a  state  merely 
of  trial  and  warfare,  and  though  unfeignedly  prepared  to  sacri- 
fice goods  and  life  at  the  behest  of  duty  —  made  it  a  matter 
of  conscience  to  reject  such  means  of  comfort,  or  even  luxury, 
as  lay  fairly  within  their  grasp.     This  creed  was  never  taught. 


130  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

for  instance,  by  the  venerable  pastor,  John  Wilson,  whose  beard, 
white  as  a  snow-drift,  was  seen  over  Governor  Bellingham's 
shoulder;  while  its  wearer  suggested  that  pears  and  peaches 
might  yet  be  naturalized  in  the  New  England  climate,  and  that 
purple  grapes  might  possibly  be  compelled  to  nourish,  against 
the  sunny  garden-wall.  The  old  clergyman,  nurtured  at  the 
rich  bosom  of  the  English  Church,  had  a  long-established  and 
legitimate  taste  for  all  good  and  comfortable  things ;  and  however 
stern  he  might  show  himself  in  the  pulpit,  or  in  his  public  reproof 
of  such  transgressions  as  that  of  Hester  Prynne,  still  the  genial 
benevolence  of  his  private  life  had  won  him  warmer  affection 
than  was   accorded  to   any  of  his  professional  contemporaries. 

Behind  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Wilson  came  two  other  guests : 
one  the  Eeverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  whom  the  reader  may 
remember  as  having  taken  a  brief  and  reluctant  part  in  the 
scene  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace;  and,  in  close  companion- 
ship with  him,  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  a  person  of  great  skill 
in  physic,  who,  for  two  or  three  years  past,  had  been  settled 
in  the  town.  It  was  understood  that  this  learned  man  was  the 
physician  as  well  as  friend  of  the  young  minister,  whose  health 
had  severely  suffered,  of  late,  by  his  too  unreserved  self-sacrifice 
to  the  labors  and  duties  of  the  pastoral  relation. 

The  Governor,  in  advance  of  his  visitors,  ascended  one  or  two 
steps,  and,  throwing  open  the  leaves  of  the  great  hall-window, 
found  himself  close  to  little  Pearl.  The  shadow  of  the  curtain 
fell  on  Hester  Prynne,  and  partially  concealed  her. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  Governor  Bellingham,  looking 
with  surprise  at  the  scarlet  little  figure  before  him.  "  I  pro- 
fess, I  have  never  seen  the  like,  since  my  days  of  vanity,  in  old 
King  James's  time,  when  I  was  wont  to  esteem  it  a  high  favor 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.         131 

to  be  admitted  to  a  court  mask !  There  used  to  be  a  swarm 
of  these  small  apparitions,  in  holiday  time;  and  we  called  them 
children  of  the  Lord  of  Misrule.  But  how  gat  such  a  guest 
into  my  hall?" 

"Ay,  indeed!"  cried  good  old  Mr.  Wilson.  "What  little 
bird  of  scarlet  plumage  may  this  be?  Methinks  I  have  seen 
just  such  figures,  when  the  sun  has  been  shining  through  a  richly 
painted  window,  and  tracing  out  the  golden  and  crimson  images 
across  the  floor.  But  that  was  in  the  old  land.  Prithee,  young 
one,  who  art  thou,  and  what  has  ailed  thy  mother  to  bedizen 
thee  in  this  strange  fashion?  Art  thou  a  Christian  child, — 
ha?  Dost  know  thy  catechism?  Or  art  thou  one  of  those 
naughty  elfs  or  fairies,  whom  we  thought  to  have  left  behind 
us,  with  other  relics  of  Papistry,  in  merry  old  England?" 

"I  am  mother's  child,"  answered  the  scarlet  vision,  "and 
my  name  is  Pearl !  " 

"  Pearl  ?  —  Ruby,  rather  !  —  or  Coral !  —  or  Eed  Rose,  at  the 
very  least,  judging  from  thy  hue ! "  responded  the  old  minister, 
putting  forth  his  hand  in  a  vain  attempt  to  pat  little  Pearl  on 
the  cheek.  "  But  where  is  this  mother  of  thine  ?  Ah !  I  see," 
he  added;  and,  turning  to  Governor  Bellingham,  whispered, 
"This  is  the  selfsame  child  of  whom  we  have  held  speech  to- 
gether; and  behold  here  the  unhappy  woman,  Hester  Prynne, 
her  mother ! " 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ? "  cried  the  Governor.  "  Nay,  we  might 
have  judged  that  such  a  child's  mother  must  needs  bs  a  scarlet 
woman,  and  a  worthy  type  of  her  of  Babylon !  But  she  comes 
at  a  good  time ;  and  we  will  look  into  this  matter  forthwith." 

Governor  Bellingham  stepped  through  the  window  into  the 
hall,  followed  by  his  three  guests. 


132         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  fixing  his  naturally  stern  regard 
on  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter,  "  there  hath  been  much  ques- 
tion concerning  thee,  of  late.  The  point  hath  been  weightily 
discussed,  whether  we,  that  are  of  authority  and  influence,  do 
well  discharge  our  consciences  by  trusting  an  immortal  soul, 
such  as  there  is  in  yonder  child,  to  the  guidance  of  one  who 
hath  stumbled  and  fallen,  amid  the  pitfalls  of  this  world.  Speak 
thou,  the  child's  own  mother!  Were  it  not,  thinkest  thou,  for 
thy  little  one's  temporal  and  eternal  welfare  that  she  be  taken 
out  of  thy  charge,  and  clad  soberly,  and  disciplined  strictly, 
and  instructed  in  the  truths  of  heaven  and  earth  ?  What  canst 
thou  do  for  the  child,  in  this  kind  ? " 

"  I  can  teach  my  little  Pearl  what  I  have  learned  from  this ! " 
answered  Hester  Prynne,  laying  her  finger  on  the  red  token. 

"  Woman,  it  is  thy  badge  of  shame  !  "  replied  the  stern  magis- 
trate. "It  is  because  of  the  stain  which  that  letter  indicates, 
that  we  would  transfer  thy  child  to  other  hands." 

"Nevertheless/'  said  the  mother,  calmly,  though  growing  more 
pale,  "this  badge  hath  taught  me  —  it  daily  teaches  me  —  it  is 
teaching  me  at  this  moment  —  lessons  whereof  my  child  may 
be  the  wiser  and  better,  albeit  they  can  profit  nothing  to  my- 
self." 

"  We  will  judge  warily,"  said  Bellingham,  "  and  look  well 
what  we  are  about  to  do.  Good  Master  Wilson,  I  pray  you, 
examine  this  Pearl,  —  since  that  is  her  name,  —  and  see  whether 
she  hath  had  such  Christian  nurture  as  befits  a  child  of  her  age. 

The  old  minister  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair,  and  made 
an  effort  to  draw  Pearl  betwixt  his  knees.  But  the  child,  unac- 
customed to  the  touch  or  familiarity  of  any  but  her  mother, 
escaped  through  the  open  window,  and  stood  on  the  upper  step, 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.         133 

looking  like  a  wild  tropical  bird,  of  rich  plumage,  ready  to  take 
flight  into  the  upper  air.  Mr.  Wilson,  not  a  little  astonished 
at  this  outbreak,  —  for  he  was  a  grandfatherly  sort  of  person- 
age, and  usually  a  vast  favorite  with  children,  —  essayed,  how- 
ever, to  proceed  with  the  examination. 

"Pearl,"  said  he,  with  great  solemnity,  "thou  must  take  heed 
to  instruction,  that  so,  in  due  season,  thou  mayest  wear  in  thy 
bosom  the  pearl  of  great  price.  Canst  thou  tell  me,  my  child, 
who  made  thee  ?  " 

Now  Pearl  knew  well  enough  who  made  her;  for  Hester 
Prynne,  the  daughter  of  a  pious  home,  very  soon  after  her  talk 
M'ith  the  child  about  her  Heavenly  Father,  had  begun  to  inform 
her  of  those  truths  Avhich  the  human  spirit,  at  whatever  stage  of 
immaturity,  imbibes  with  such  eager  interest.  Pearl,  therefore, 
so  large  were  the  attainments  of  her  three  years'  lifetime,  could 
have  borne  a  fair  examination  in  the  New  England  Primer,  or 
the  first  column  of  the  Westminster  Catechisms,  although  unac- 
quainted with  the  outward  form  of  either  of  those  celebrated 
works.  But  that  perversity  which  all  children  have  more  or  less 
of,  and  of  which  little  Pearl  had  a  tenfold  portion,  now,  at  the 
most  inopportune  moment,  took  thorough  possession  of  her,  and 
closed  her  lips,  or  impelled  her  to  speak  words  amiss.  After 
putting  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  with  many  ungracious  refusals 
to  answer  good  Mr.  Wilson's  question,  the  child  finally  announced 
that  she  had  not  been  made  at  all,  but  had  been  plucked  by  her 
mother  off  the  bush  of  wild  roses  that  grew  by  the  prison-door. 

This  fantasy  was  probably  suggested  by  the  near  proximity 
of  the  Governor's  red  roses,  as  Pearl  stood  outside  of  the  window ; 
together  with  her  recollection  of  the  prison  rose-bush,  which  she 
had  passed  in  coming  hither. 


134  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Old  Soger  Chillingworth,  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  whispered 
something  in  the  young  clergyman's  ear.  Hester  Prynne  looked 
at  the  man  of  skill,  and  even  then,  with  her  fate  hanging  in  the 
balance,  was  startled  to  perceive  what  a  change  had  come  over 
his  features,  —  how  much  uglier  they  were,  —  how  his  dark  com- 
plexion seemed  to  have  grown  duskier,  and  his  figure  more  mis- 
shapen,—  since  the  days  when  she  had  familiarly  known  him. 
She  met  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  but  was  immediately  constrained 
to  give  all  her  attention  to  the  scene  now  going  forward. 

"  This  is  awful ! "  cried  the  Governor,  slowly  recovering  from 
the  astonishment  into  which  Pearl's  response  had  thrown  him. 
"Here  is  a  child  of  three  years  old,  and  she  cannot  tell  who 
made  her !  Without  question,  she  is  equally  in  the  dark  as  to 
her  soul,  its  present  depravity,  and  future  destiny !  Methinks, 
gentlemen,  we  need  inquire  no  further/' 

Hester  caught  hold  of  Pearl,  and  drew  her  forcibly  into  her 
arms,  confronting  the  old  Puritan  magistrate  with  almost  a  fierce 
expression.  Alone  in  the  world,  cast  off  by  it,  and  with  this 
sole  treasure  to  keep  her  heart  alive,  she  felt  that  she  possessed 
indefeasible  rights  against  the  world,  and  was  ready  to  defend 
them  to  the  death. 

"  God  gave  me  the  child ! "  cried  she.  "  He  gave  her  in 
requital  of  all  things  else,  which  ye  had  taken  from  me.  She  is 
my  happiness  !  —  she  is  my  torture,  none  the  less  !  Pearl  keeps 
me  here  in  life !  Pearl  punishes  me  too !  See  ye  not,  she  is 
the  scarlet  letter,  only  capable  of  being  loved,  and  so  endowed 
with  a  million-fold  the  power  of  retribution  for  my  sin?  Ye 
shall  not  take  her  !     I  will  die  first !  " 

"My  poor  woman,"  said  the  not  unkind  old  minister,  "the 
child  shall  be  well  cared  for  !  —  far  tatter  than  thou  canst  do  it !  " 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.         137 

"  God  gave  her  into  my  keeping/'  repeated  Hester  Prynne, 
raising  her  voice  almost  to  a  shriek.  "  I  will  not  give  her 
up ! "  —  And  here,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  turned  to  the  young 
clergyman,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  whom,  up  to  this  moment,  she 
had  seemed  hardly  so  much  as  once  to  direct  her  eyes.  —  "  Speak 
thou  for  me ! "  cried  she.  "  Thou  wast  my  pastor,  and  hadst 
charge  of  my  soul,  and  knowest  me  better  than  these  men  can. 
I  will  not  lose  the  child !  Speak  for  me !  Thou  knowest,  — 
for  thou  hast  sympathies  which  these  men  lack !  —  thou  knowest 
what  is  in  my  heart,  and  what  are  a  mother's  rights,  and  how 
much  the  stronger  they  are,  when  that  mother  has  but  her  child 
and  the  scarlet  letter!  Look  thou  to  it!  I  will  not  lose  the 
child!     Look  to  it!" 

At  this  wild  and  singular  appeal,  which  indicated  that  Hester 
Prynne's  situation  had  provoked  her  to  little  less  than  madness, 
the  young  minister  at  once  came  forward,  pale,  and  holding  his 
hand  over  his  heart,  as  was  his  custom  whenever  his  peculiarly 
nervous  temperament  was  thrown  into  agitation.  He  looked  now 
more  careworn  and  emaciated  than  as  we  described  him  at  the 
scene  of  Hester's  public  ignominy;  and  whether  it  were  his 
failing  health,  or  whatever  the  cause  might  be,  his  large  dark 
eyes  had  a  world  of  pain  in  their  troubled  and  melancholy 
depth. 

"There  is  truth  in  what  she  says,"  began  the  minister,  with 
a  voice  sweet,  tremulous,  but  powerful,  insomuch  that  the  hall 
re-echoed,  and  the  hollow  armor  rang  with  it,  —  "truth  in  what 
Hester  says,  and  in  the  feeling  which  inspires  her!  God  gave 
her  the  child,  and  gave  her,  too,  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  its 
nature  and  requirements,  —  both  seemingly  so  peculiar,  —  which 
no  other  mortal  being  can  possess.     And,  moreover,  is  there  not 


138  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

a  quality  of  awful  sacredness  in  the  relation  between  this  mother 
and  this  child  ?  ^ 

"  Ay  !  —  how  is  that,  good  Master  Dimmesdale  ?  "  interrupted 
the  Governor.     "Make  that  plain,  I  pray  you!" 

"It  must  be  even  so/'  resumed  the  minister.  "For,  if  we 
deem  it  otherwise,  do  we  not  thereby  say  that  the  Heavenly 
Father,  the  Creator  of  all  flesh,  hath  lightly  recognized  a  deed  of 
sin,  and  made  of  no  account  the  distinction  between  unhallowed 
lust  and  holy  love?  This  child  of  its  father's  guilt  and  its 
mother's  shame  hath  come  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  work  in 
many  ways  upon  her  heart,  who  pleads  so  earnestly,  and  with 
such  bitterness  of  spirit,  the  right  to  keep  her.  It  was  meant 
for  a  blessing ;  for  the  one  blessing  of  her  life !  It  was  meant, 
doubtless,  as  the  mother  herself  hath  told  us,  for  a  retribution 
too;  a  torture  to  be  felt  at  many  an  unthought-of  moment;  a 
pang,  a  sting,  an  ever- recurring  agony,  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled 
joy !  Hath  she  not  expressed  this  thought  in  the  garb  of  the 
poor  child,  so  forcibly  reminding  us  of  that  red  symbol  which 
sears  her  bosom?" 

"  Well  said,  again ! "  cried  good  Mr.  Wilson.  "  I  feared  the 
woman  had  no  better  thought  than  to  make  a  mountebank  of 
her  child!" 

"  O,  not  so  !  —  not  so ! "  continued  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  She 
recognizes,  believe  me,  the  solemn  miracle  which  God  hath 
wrought,  in  the  existence  of  that  child.  And  may  she  feel, 
too,  —  what,  methinks,  is  the  very  truth,  —  that  this  boon  was 
meant,  above  all  things  else,  to  keep  the  mother's  soul  alive, 
and  to  preserve  her  from  blacker  depths  of  sin  into  which  Satan 
might  else  have  sought  to  plunge  her!  Therefore  it  is  good  for 
this  poor,  sinful  woman  that  she  hath  an  infant  immortality,  a 


THE   ELF-CHILD   AND   THE   MINISTER.         139 

being  capable  of  eternal  joy  or  sorrow,  confided  to  her  care, — 
to  be  trained  up  by  her  to  righteousness,  —  to  remind  her,  at 
every  moment,  of  her  fall,  —  but  yet  to  teach  her,  as  it  were 
by  the  Creator's  sacred  pledge,  that,  if  she  bring  the  child  to 
heaven,  the  child  also  will  bring  its  parent  thither!  Herein  is 
the  sinful  mother  happier  than  the  sinful  father.  For  Hester 
Prynne's  sake,  then,  and  no  less  for  the  poor  child's  sake,  let 
us  leave  them  as  Providence  hath  seen  fit  to  place  them !  " 

"You  speak,  my  friend,  with  a  strange  earnestness/'  said  old 
Eoger  Chillingworth,  smiling  at  him. 

"And  there  is  a  weighty  import  in  what  my  young  brother 
hath  spoken,"  added  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson.  "What  say 
you,  worshipful  Master  Bellingham?  Hath  he  not  pleaded  well 
for  the  poor  woman?" 

"  Indeed  hath  he,"  answered  the  magistrate,  "  and  hath  adduced 
such  arguments,  that  we  will  even  leave  the  matter  as  it  now 
stands;  so  long,  at  least,  as  there  shall  be  no  further  scandal 
in  the  woman.  Care  must  be  had,  nevertheless,  to  put  the  child 
to  due  and  stated  examination  in  the  catechism,  at  thy  hands 
or  Master  Dimmesdale's.  Moreover,  at  a  proper  season,  the 
tithing-men  must  take  heed  that  she  go  both  to  school  and  to 
meeting." 

The  young  minister,  on  ceasing  to  speak,  had  withdrawn  a 
few  steps  from  the  group,  and  stood  with  his  face  partially  con- 
cealed in  the  heavy  folds  of  the  window-curtain  ;  while  the  shadow 
of  his  figure,  which  the  sunlight  cast  upon  the  floor,  was  trem- 
ulous with  the  vehemence  of  his  appeal.  Pearl,  that  wild  and 
flighty  little  elf,  stole  softly  towards  him,  and  taking  his  hand  in 
the  grasp  of  both  her  own,  laid  her  cheek  against  it ;  a  caress  so 
tender,  and  withal  so  unobtrusive,  that  her  mother,  who  was  look- 


140  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ing  on,  asked  herself,  —  "  Is  that  my  Pearl  ?  "  Yet  she  knew  that 
there  was  love  in  the  child's  heart,  although  it  mostly  revealed 
itself  in  passion,  and  hardly  twice  in  her  lifetime  had  been  softened 
by  such  gentleness  as  now.  The  minister,  —  for,  save  the  long- 
sought  regards  of  woman,  nothing  is  sweeter  than  these  marks 
of  childish  preference,  accorded  spontaneously  by  a  spiritual 
instinct,  and  therefore  seeming  to  imply  in  us  something  truly 
worthy  to  be  loved,  —  the  minister  looked  round,  laid  his  hand 
on  the  child's  head,  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  kissed  her 
brow.  Little  Pearl's  unwonted  mood  of  sentiment  lasted  no 
longer;  she  laughed,  and  went  capering  down  the  hall,  so  airily, 
that  old  Mr.  Wilson  raised  a  question  whether  even  her  tiptoes 
touched  the  floor. 

"  The  little  baggage  hath  witchcraft  in  her,  I  profess/'  said 
he  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "She  needs  no  old  woman's  broomstick 
to  fly  withal!" 

"  A  strange  child  !  "  remarked  old  Eoger  Chillingworth.  "  It 
is  easy  to  see  the  mother's  part  in  her.  "Would  it  be  beyond 
a  philosopher's  research,  think  ye,  gentlemen,  to  analyze  that 
child's  nature,  and,  from  its  make  and  mould,  to  give  a  shrewd 
guess  at  the  father?" 

"Nay;  it  would  be  sinful,  in  such  a  question,  to  follow  the 
clew  of  profane  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Wilson.  "Better  to  fast 
.  and  pray  upon  it ;  and  still  better,  it  may  be,  to  leave  the  mys- 
tery as  we  find  it,  unless  Providence  reveal  it  of  its  own  accord. 
Thereby,  every  good  Christian  man  hath  a  title  to  show  a  father's 
kindness  towards  the  poor,  deserted  babe." 

The  affair  being  so  satisfactorily  concluded,  Hester  Prynne, 
with  Pearl,  departed  from  the  house.  As  they  descended  the 
steps,   it  is   averred  that  the  lattice  of  a  chamber-window  was 


THE   ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.         141 

thrown  open,  and  forth  into  the  sunny  day  was  thrust  the  face 
of  Mistress  Hibbins,  Governor  BeUmgham's  bitter-tempered  sis- 
ter, and  the  same  who,  a  few  years  later,  was  executed  as  a 
witch. 

"  Hist,  hist ! "  said  she,  while  her  ill-omened  physiognomy 
seemed  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  cheerful  newness  of  the  house. 
"Wilt  thou  go  with  us  to-night?  There  will  be  a  merry  com- 
pany in  the  forest;  and  I  wellnigh  promised  the  Black  Man 
that  comely  Hester  Prynne  should  make  one." 

"  Make  my  excuse  to  him,  so  please  you ! "  answered  Hester, 
with  a  triumphant  smile.  "I  must  tarry  at  home,  and  keep 
watch  over  my  little  Pearl.  Had  they  taken  her  from  me,  I 
would  willingly  have  gone  with  thee  into  the  forest,  and  signed 
my  name  in  the  Black  Man's  book  too,  and  that  with  mine  own 
blood!" 

"  We  shall  have  thee  there  anon ! "  said  the  witch-lady,  frown- 
ing, as  she  drew  back  her  head. 

But  here  —  if  we  suppose  this  interview  betwixt  Mistress  Hib- 
bins  and  Hester  Prynne  to  be  authentic,  and  not  a  parable  — 
was  already  an  illustration  of  the  young  minister's  argument 
against  sundering  the  relation  of  a  fallen  mother  to  the  offspring 
of  her  frailty.  Even  thus  early  had  the  child  saved  her  from 
Satan's  snare. 


IX. 


THE    LEECH. 


'"SNDER  the  appellation  of  Roger  Chillingworth, 
the  reader  will  remember,  was  hidden  another 
name,  which  its  former  wearer  had  resolved 
should  never  more  be  spoken.  It  has  been 
related,  how,  in  the  crowd  that  witnessed 
Hester  Prynne's  ignominious  exposure,  stood 
a  man,  elderly,  travel- worn,  who,  just  emerging  from  the  perilous 
wilderness,  beheld  the  woman,  in  whom  he  hoped  to  find  embodied 
the  warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  home,  set  up  as  a  type  of  sin 
before  the  people.  Her  matronly  fame  was  trodden  under  all 
men's  feet.  Infamy  was  babbling  around  her  in  the  public 
market-place.  Por  her  kindred,  should  the  tidings  ever  reach 
them,  and  for  the  companions  of  her  unspotted  life,  there  remained 
nothing  but  the  contagion  of  her  dishonor;  which  would  not 
fail  to  be  distributed  in  strict  accordance  and  proportion  with 
the  intimacy  and  sacredness  of  their  previous  relationship.  Then 
why  —  since  the  choice  was  with  himself  —  should  the  individual, 
whose  connection  with  the  fallen  woman  had  been  the  most 
intimate   and  sacred  of  them  all,  come  forward  to  vindicate  his 


THE   LEECH.  143 

claim  to  an  inheritance  so  little  desirable  ?  He  resolved  not  to 
be  pilloried  beside  her  on  her  pedestal  of  shame.  Unknown  to 
all  but  Hester  Prynne,  and  possessing  the  lock  and  key  of  her 
silence,  he  chose  to  withdraw  his  name  from  the  roll  of  mankind, 
and,  as  regarded  his  former  ties  and  interests,  to  vanish  out  of 
life  as  completely  as  if  he  indeed  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean, 
whither  rumor  had  long  ago  consigned  him.  This  purpose  once 
effected,  new  interests  would  immediately  spring  up,  and  like- 
wise a  new  purpose;  dark,  it  is  true,  if  not  guilty,  but  of  force 
enough  to  engage  the  full  strength  of  his  faculties. 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolve,  he  took  up  his  residence  in  the 
Puritan  town,  as  Eoger  Chillingworth,  without  other  introduction 
than  the  learning  and  intelligence  of  which  he  possessed  more 
than  a  common  measure.  As  his  studies,  at  a  previous  period 
of  his  life,  had  made  him  extensively  acquainted  with  the  medical 
science  of  the  day,  it  was  as  a  physician  that  he  presented  him- 
self, and  as  such  was  cordially  received.  Skilful  men,  of  the 
medical  and  chirurgical  profession,  were  of  rare  occurrence  in  the 
colony.  They  seldom,  it  would  appear,  partook  of  the  religious 
zeal  that  brought  other  emigrants  across  the  Atlantic.  In  their 
researches  into  the  human  frame,  it  may  be  that  the  higher  and 
more  subtile  faculties  of  such  men  were  materialized,  and  that 
they  lost  the  spiritual  view  of  existence  amid  the  intricacies  of 
that  wondrous  mechanism,  which  seemed  to  involve  art  enough 
to  comprise  all  of  life  within  itself.  At  all  events,  the  health  of 
the  good  town  of  Boston,  so  far  as  medicine  had  aught  to  do 
with  it,  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  guardianship  of  an  aged  deacon 
and  apothecary,  whose  piety  and  godly  deportment  were  stronger 
testimonials  in  his  favor  than  any  that  he  could  have  produced 
in  the   shape   of  a  diploma.     The   only   surgeon  was   one   who 


144  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

combined  the  occasional  exercise  of  that  noble  art  with  the  daily 
and  habitual  flourish  of  a  razor.  To  such  a  professional  body 
Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  brilliant  acquisition.  He  soon  mani- 
fested his  familiarity  with  the  ponderous  and  imposing  machinery 
of  antique  physic;  in  which  every  remedy  contained  a  multitude 
of  far-fetched  and  heterogeneous  ingredients,  as  elaborately  com- 
pounded as  if  the  proposed  result  had  been  the  Elixir  of  Life. 
In  his  Indian  captivity,  moreover,  he  had  gained  much  knowl- 
edge of  the  properties  of  native  herbs  and  roots;  nor  did  he 
conceal  from  his  patients,  that  these  simple  medicines,  Nature's 
boon  to  the  untutored  savage,  had  quite  as  large  a  share  of  his 
own  confidence  as  the  European  pharmacopoeia,  which  so  many 
learned  doctors  had  spent  centuries  in  elaborating. 

This  learned  stranger  was  exemplary,  as  regarded,  at  least, 
the  outward  forms  of  a  religious  life,  and,  early  after  his  arrival, 
had  chosen  for  his  spiritual  guide  the  Reverend  Mr.  Diinmesdale. 
The  young  divine,  whose  scholar-like  renown  still  lived  in  Oxford, 
was  considered  by  his  more  fervent  admirers  as  little  less  than 
a  heaven-ordained  apostle,  destined,  should  he  live  and  labor  for 
the  ordinary  term  of  life,  to  do  as  great  deeds  for  the  now 
feeble  New  England  Church,  as  the  early  Fathers  had  achieved 
for  the  infancy  of  the  Christian  faith.  About  this  period,  how- 
ever, the  health  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  evidently  begun  to  fail. 
By  those  best  acquainted  with  his  habits,  the  paleness  of  the 
young  minister's  cheek  was  accounted  for  by  his  too  earnest  devo- 
tion to  study,  his  scrupulous  fulfilment  of  parochial  duty,  and, 
more  than  all,  by  the  fasts  and  vigils  of  which  he  made  a  fre- 
quent practice,  in  order  to  keep  the  grossness  of  this  earthly 
state  from  clogging  and  obscuring  his  spiritual  lamp.  Some 
declared,  that,  if  Mr.  Dimmesdale  were  really  going  to  die,  it 


THE   LEECH.  145 

was  cause  enough,  that  the  world  was  not  worthy  to  be  any 
longer  trodden  by  his  feet.  He  himself,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  characteristic  humility,  avowed  his  belief,  that,  if  Provi- 
dence should  see  fit  to  remove  him,  it  would  be  because  of  his 
own  unworthiness  to  perform  its  humblest  mission  here  on  earth. 
With  all  this  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  his  decline, 
there  could  be  no  question  of  the  fact.  His  form  grew  emaciated ; 
his  voice,  though  still  rich  and  sweet,  had  a  certain  melancholy 
prophecy  of  decay  in  it;  he  was  often  observed,  on  any  slight 
alarm  or  other  sudden  accident,  to  put  his  hand  over  his  heart, 
with  first  a  flush  and  then  a  paleness,  indicative  of  pain. 

Such  was  the  young  clergyman's  condition,  and  so  imminent 
the  prospect  that  his  dawning  light  would  be  extinguished,  all 
untimely,  when  Eoger  Chillingworth  made  his  advent  to  the  town. 
His  first  entry  on  the  scene,  few  people  could  tell  whence,  drop- 
ping down,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  sky,  or  starting  from  the  nether- 
earth,  had  an  aspect  of  mystery,  which  was  easily  heightened  to 
the  miraculous.  He  was  now  known  to  be  a  man  of  skill;  it 
was  observed  that  he  gathered  herbs,  and  the  blossoms  of  wild- 
flowers,  and  dug  up  roots,  and  plucked  off  twigs  from  the  forest- 
trees,  like  one  acquainted  with  hidden  virtues  in  what  was 
valueless  to  common  eyes.  He  was  heard  to  speak  of  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby,  and  other  famous  men,  —  whose  scientific  attain- 
ments were  esteemed  hardly  less  than  supernatural,  —  as  having 
been  his  correspondents  or  associates.  Why,  with  such  rank  in 
the  learned  world,  had  he  come  hither?  What  could  he,  whose 
sphere  was  in  great  cities,  be  seeking  in  the  wilderness?  In 
answer  to  this  query,  a  rumor  gained  ground,  —  and,  however 
absurd,  was  entertained  by  some  very  sensible  people,  —  that 
Heaven   had   wrought  an   absolute   miracle,   by  transporting  an 


146  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

eminent  Doctor  of  Physic,  from  a  German  university,  bodily 
through  the  air,  and  setting  him  down  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  study !  Individuals  of  wiser  faith,  indeed,  who  knew  that 
Heaven  promotes  its  purposes  without  aiming  at  the  stage-effect 
of  what  is  called  miraculous  interposition,  were  inclined  to 
see  a  providential  hand  in  Eoger  Chillingworth's  so  opportune 
arrival. 

This  idea  was  countenanced  by  the  strong  interest  which  the 
physician  ever  manifested  in  the  young  clergyman;  he  attached 
himself  to  him  as  a  parishioner,  and  sought  to  win  a  friendly 
regard  and  confidence  from  his  naturally  reserved  sensibility.  He 
expressed  great  alarm  at  his  pastor's  state  of  health,  but  was 
anxious  to  attempt  the  cure,  and,  if  early  undertaken,  seemed 
not  despondent  of  a  favorable  result.  The  elders,  the  deacons, 
the  motherly  dames,  and  the  young  and  fair  maidens,  of  Mr. 
Dimmesdale's  flock,  were  alike  importunate  that  he  should  make 
trial  of  the  physician's  frankly  offered  skill.  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
gently  repelled  their  entreaties. 

"I  need  no  medicine,"  said  he. 

But  how  could  the  young  minister  say  so,  when,  with  every 
successive  Sabbath,  his  cheek  was  paler  and  thinner,  and  his 
voice  more  tremulous  than  before,  —  when  it  had  now  become  a 
constant  habit,  rather  than  a  casual  gesture,  to  press  his  hand 
over  his  heart  ?  Was  he  weary  of  his  labors  ?  Did  he  wish  to 
die  ?  These  questions  were  solemnly  propounded  to  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale by  the  elder  ministers  of  Boston  and  the  deacons  of  his 
church,  who,  to  use  their  own  phrase,  "dealt  with  him"  on  the 
sin  of  rejecting  the  aid  which  Providence  so  manifestly  held  out. 
He  listened  in  silence,  and  finally  promised  to  confer  with  the 
physician. 


THE    LEECH.  147 

"Were  it  God's  will,"  said  the  Beverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
when,  in  fulfilment  of  this  pledge,  he  requested  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth's  professional  advice,  "I  could  be  well  content,  that 
my  labors,  and  my  sorrows,  and  my  sins,  and  my  pains,  should 
shortly  end  with  me,  and  what  is  earthly  of  them  be  buried  in 
my  grave,  and  the  spiritual  go  with  me  to  my  eternal  state, 
rather  than  that  you  should  put  your  skill  to  the  proof  in  my 
behalf/' 

"  Ah/'  replied  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  that  quietness  which, 
whether  imposed  or  natural,  marked  all  his  deportment,  "it  is 
thus  that  a  young  clergyman  is  apt  to  speak.  Youthful  men, 
not  having  taken  a  deep  root,  give  up  their  hold  of  life  so  easily ! 
And  saintly  men,  who  walk  with  God  on  earth,  would  fain  be 
away,  to  walk  with  him  on  the  golden  pavements  of  the  New 
Jerusalem." 

"Nay,"  rejoined  the  young  minister,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
heart,  with  a  flush  of  pain  flitting  over  his  brow,  "  were  I  worthier 
to  walk  there,  I  could  be  better  content  to  toil  here." 

"  Good  men  ever  interpret  themselves  too  meanly/'  said  the 
physician. 

In  this  manner,  the  mysterious  old  Roger  Chillingworth  became 
the  medical  adviser  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  As  not 
only  the  disease  interested  the  physican,  but  he  was  strongly  moved 
to  look  into  the  character  and  qualities  of  the  patient,  these  two 
men,  so  different  in  age,  came  gradually  to  spend  much  time 
together.  Eor  the  sake  of  the  minister's  health,  and  to  enable 
the  leech  to  gather  plants  with  healing  balm  in  them,  they  took 
long  walks  on  the  sea-shore,  or  in  the  forest;  mingling  various 
talk  with  the  plash  and  murmur  of  the  waves,  and  the  solemn 
wind-anthem  among  the  tree-tops.     Often,  likewise,  one  was  the 


148 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


guest  of  the  other,  in  his  place  of  study  and  retirement.  There 
was  a  fascination  for  the  minister  in  the  company  of  the  man 
of  science,  in  whom  he  recognized  an  intellectual  cultivation 
of  no  moderate  depth  or  scope ;  together  with  a  range  and  free- 
dom of  ideas,  that  he  would  have  vainly  looked  for  among  the 
members  of  his  own  profession.  In  truth,  he  was  startled,  if  not 
shocked,  to  find  this  attribute  in  the  physician.     Mr.  Dimmesdale 


was  a  true  priest,  a  true  religionist,  with  the  reverential  senti- 
ment largely  developed,  and  an  order  of  mind  that  impelled  itself 
powerfully  along  the  track  of  a  creed,  and  wore  its  passage  con- 
tnually  deeper  with  the  lapse  of. time.  In  no  state  of  society 
would  he  have  been  what  is  called  a  man  of  liberal  views ;  it 
Avould  always  be  essential  to  his  peace  to  feel  the  pressure  of  a 
faith  about  him,  supporting,  while  it  confined  him  wTithin  its  iron 


THE    LEECH.  149 

framework.  Not  the  less,  however,  though  with  a  tremulous 
enjoyment,  did  he  feel  the  occasional  relief  of  looking  at  the 
universe  through  the  medium  of  another  kind  of  intellect  than 
those  with  which  he  habitually  held  converse.  It  was  as  if  a 
window  were  thrown  open,  admitting  a  freer  atmosphere  into 
the  close  and  stifled  study,  where  his  life  was  wasting  itself  away, 
amid  lamplight,  or  obstructed  day-beams,  and  the  musty  fragrance, 
be  it  sensual  or  moral,  that  exhales  from  books.  But  the  air 
was  too  fresh  and  chill  to  be  long  breathed  with  comfort.  So 
the  minister,  and  the  physician  with  him,  withdrew  again  within 
the  limits  of  what  their  church  defined  as  orthodox. 

Thus  Roger  Chillingworth  scrutinized  his  patient  carefully,  both 
as  he  saw  him  in  his  ordinary  life,  keeping  an  accustomed  path- 
way in  the  range  of  thoughts  familiar  to  him,  and  as  he  appeared 
when  thrown  amidst  other  moral  scenery,  the  novelty  of  which 
might  call  out  something  new  to  the  surface  of  his  character. 
He  deemed  it  essential,  it  would  seem,  to  know  the  man,  before 
attempting  to  do  him  good.  Wherever  there  is  a  heart  and  an 
intellect,  the  diseases  of  the  physical  frame  are  tinged  with  the 
peculiarities  of  these.  In  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  thought  and 
imagination  were  so  active,  and  sensibility  so  intense,  that  the 
bodily  infirmity  would  be  likely  to '  have  its  groundwork  there. 
So  Roger  Chillingworth  —  the  man  of  skill,  the  kind  and  friendly 
physician  —  strove  to  go  deep  into  his  patient's  bosom,  delving 
among  his  principles,  prying  into  his  recollections,  and  probing 
everything  with  a  cautious  touch,  like  a  treasure-seeker  in  a 
dark  cavern.  Few  secrets  can  escape  an  investigator,  who  has 
opportunity  and  license  to  undertake  such  a  quest,  and  skill  to 
follow  it  up.  A  man  burdened  with  a  secret  should  especially 
avoid  the  intimacy  of  his  physician.     If  the  latter  possess  native 


150  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

sagacity,  and  a  nameless  something  more,  —  let  us  call  it  intui- 
tion ;  if  he  show  no  intrusive  egotism,  nor  disagreeably  prominent 
characteristics  of  his  own;  if  he  have  the  power,  which  must 
be  born  with  him,  to  bring  his  mind  into  such  affinity  with  his 
patient's,  that  this  last  shall  unawares  have  spoken  what  he 
imagines  himself  only  to  have  thought ;  if  such  revelations 
be  received  without  tumult,  and  acknowledged  not  so  often  by 
an  uttered  sympathy  as  by  silence,  an  inarticulate  breath,  and 
here  and  there  a  word,  to  indicate  that  all  is  understood;  if  to 
these  qualifications  of  a  confidant  be  joined  the  advantages  afforded 
by  his  recognized  character  as  a  physician ;  —  then,  at  some  inevi- 
table moment,  will  the  soul  of  the  sufferer  be  dissolved,  and  flow 
forth  in  a  dark,  but  transparent  stream,  bringing  all  its  mysteries 
into  the  daylight. 

Roger  Chillingworth  possessed  all,  or  most,  of  the  attributes 
above  enumerated.  Nevertheless,  time  went  on;  a  kind  of  inti- 
macy, as  we  have  said,  grew  up  between  these  two  cultivated 
minds,  which  had  as  wide  a  field  as  the  whole  sphere  of  human 
thought  and  study,  to  meet  upon;  they  discussed  every  topic 
of  ethics  and  religion,  of  public  affairs  and  private  character; 
they  talked  much,  on  both  sides,  of  matters  that  seemed  personal 
to  themselves;  and  yet  no  secret,  such  as  the  physician  fancied 
must  exist  there,  ever  stole  out  of  the  minister's  consciousness 
into  his  companion's  ear.  The  latter  had  his  suspicions,  indeed, 
that  even  the  nature  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  bodily  disease  had 
never  fairly  been  revealed  to  him.     It  was  a  strange  reserve ! 

After  a  time,  at  a  hint  from  Roger  Chillingworth,  the  friends 
of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  effected  an  arrangement  by  which  the  two 
were  lodged  in  the  same  house;  so  that  every  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  minister's  life-tide  might  pass  under  the  eye  of  his  anxious 


THE   LEECH.  151 

and  attached  physician.  There  was  much  joy  throughout  the 
town,  when  this  greatly  desirable  object  was  attained.  It  was 
held  to  be  the  best  possible  measure  for  the  young  clergyman's 
welfare;  unless,  indeed,  as  often  urged  by  such  as  felt  authorized 
to  do  so,  he  had  selected  some  one  of  the  many  blooming  dam- 
sels, spiritually  devoted  to  him,  to  become  his  devoted  wife. 
This  latter  step,  however,  there  was  no  present  prospect  that 
Arthur  Dimmesdale  would  be  prevailed  upon  to  take ;  he  rejected 
all  suggestions  of  the  kind,  as  if  priestly  celibacy  were  one  of  his 
articles  of  church-discipline.  Doomed  by  his  own  choice,  there- 
fore, as  Mr.  Dimmesdale  so  evidently  was,  to  eat  his  unsavory 
morsel  always  at  another's  board,  and  endure  the  life-long  chill 
which  must  be  his  lot  who  seeks  to  warm  himself  only  at  another's 
fireside,  it  truly  seemed  that  this  sagacious,  experienced,  benevo- 
lent old  physician,  with  his  concord  of  paternal  and  reverential 
love  for  the  young  pastor,  was  the  very  man,  of  all  mankind, 
to  be  constantly  within  reach  of  his  voice. 

The  new  abode  of  the  two  friends  was  with  a  pious  widow, 
of  good  social  rank,  who  dwelt  in  a  house  covering  pretty  nearly 
the  site  on  which  the  venerable  structure  of  King's  Chapel  has 
since  been  built.  It  had  the  graveyard,  originally  Isaac  John- 
son's home-field,  on  one  side,  and  so  was  well  adapted  to  call 
up  serious  reflections,  suited  to  their  respective  employments,  in 
both  minister  and  man  of  physic.  The  motherly  care  of  the 
good  widow  assigned  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  front  apartment,  with 
a  sunny  exposure,  and  heavy  window-curtains,  to  create  a  noon- 
tide shadow,  when  desirable.  The  walls  were  hung  round  with 
tapestry,  said  to  be  from  the  Gobelin  looms,  and,  at  all  events, 
representing  the  Scriptural  story  of  David  and  Bathsheba,  and 
Nathan  the  Prophet,  in  colors  still  unfaded,  but  which  made  the 


152  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

fair  woman  of  the  scene  almost  as  grimly  picturesque  as  the  woe- 
denouncing  seer.  Here  the  pale  clergyman  piled  up  his  library, 
rich  with  parchment-bound  folios  of  the  Fathers,  and  the  lore 
of  Rabbis,  and  monkish  erudition,  of  which  the  Protestant  divines, 
even  while  they  vilified  and  decried  that  class  of  writers,  were  yet 
constrained  often  to  avail  themselves.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
house  old  Roger  Chillingworth  arranged  his  study  and  labora- 
tory; not  such  as  a  modern  man  of  science  would  reckon  even 
tolerably  complete,  but  provided  with  a  distilling  apparatus,  and 
the  means  of  compounding  drugs  and  chemicals,  which  the  prac- 
tised alchemist  knew  well  how  to  turn  to  purpose.  With  such 
commodiousness  of  situation,  these  two  learned  persons  sat  them- 
selves down,  each  in  his  own  domain,  yet  familiarly  passing  from 
one  apartment  to  the  other,  and  bestowing  a  mutual  and  not 
incurious  inspection  into  one  another's  business. 

And  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale's  best  discerning  friends, 
as  we  have  intimated,  very  reasonably  imagined  that  the  hand 
of  Providence  had  done  all  this,  for  the  purpose  —  besought  in 
so  many  public,  and  domestic,  and  secret  prayers  —  of  restoring 
the  young  minister  to  health.  But  —  it  must  now  be  said  — 
another  portion  of  the  community  had  latterly  begun  to  take  its 
own  view  of  the  relation  betwixt  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  the  myste- 
rious old  physician.  When  an  uninstructed  multitude  attempts 
to  see  with  its  eyes,  it  is  exceedingly  apt  to  be  deceived.  When, 
however,  it  forms  its  judgment,  as  it  usually  does,  on  the  intui- 
tions of  its  great  and  warm  heart,  the  conclusions  thus  attained 
are  often  so  profound  and  so  unerring,  as  to  possess  the  char- 
acter of  truths  supernaturally  revealed.  The  people,  in  the  case 
of  which  we  speak,  could  justify  its  prejudice  against  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth by  no  fact  or  argument  worthy  of  serious  refutation. 


THE   LEECH.  153 

There  was  an  aged  handicraftsman,  it  is  true,  who  had  been  a 
citizen  of  London  at  the  period  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  mur- 
der, now  some  thirty  years  agone;  he  testified  to  having  seen 
the  physician,  under  some  other  name,  which  the  narrator  of 
the  story  had  now  forgotten,  in  company  with  Doctor  Forman,  the 
famous  old  conjurer,  who  was  implicated  in  the  affair  of  Over- 
bury.  Two  or  three  individuals  hinted,  that  the  man  of  skill, 
during  his  Indian  captivity,  had  enlarged  his  medical  attainments 
by  joining  in  the  incantations  of  the  savage  priests;  who  were 
universally  acknowledged  to  be  powerful  enchanters,  often  per- 
forming seemingly  miraculous  cures  by  their  skill  in  the  black 
art.  A  large  number  —  and  many  of  these  were  persons  of  such 
sober  sense  and  practical  observation  that  their  opinions  would 
have  been  valuable,  in  other  matters  —  affirmed  that  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth's  aspect  had  undergone  a  remarkable  change  while  he 
had  dwelt  in  town,  and  especially  since  his  abode  with  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  At  first,  his  expression  had  been  calm,  meditative, 
scholar-like.  Now,  there  was  something  ugly  and  evil  in  his 
face,  which  they  had  not  previously  noticed,  and  which  grew 
still  the  more  obvious  to  sight,  the  oftener  they  looked  upon 
him.  According  to  the  vulgar  idea,  the  fire  in  his  laboratory 
had  been  brought  from  the  lower  regions,  and  was  fed  with 
infernal  fuel;  and  so,  as  might  be  expected,  his  visage  was  get- 
ting sooty  with  the  smoke. 

To  sum  up  the  matter,  it  grew  to  be  a  widely  diffused  opinion, 
that  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  like  many  other  person- 
ages of  especial  sanctity,  in  all  ages  of  the  Christian  world,  was 
haunted  either  by  Satan  himself,  or  Satan's  emissary,  in  the 
guise  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth.  This  diabolical  agent  had  the 
Divine  permission,  for  a  season,  to  burrow  into  the  clergyman's 


154 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


intimacy,  and  plot  against  his  soul.  No  sensible  man,  it  was 
confessed,  could  doubt  on  which  side  the  victory  would  turn. 
The  people  looked,  with  an  unshaken  hope,  to  see  the  minister 
come  forth  out  of  the  conflict,  transfigured  with  the  glory  which 
he  would  unquestionably  win.  Meanwhile,  nevertheless,  it  was 
sad  to  think  of  the  perchance  mortal  agony  through  which  he 
must  struggle  towards  his  triumph. 

Alas !  to  judge  from  the  gloom  and  terror  in  the  depths  of 
the  poor  minister's  eyes,  the  battle  was  a  sore  one  and  the  victory 
anything  but  secure. 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT. 


•LD  Roger  Chillingworth,  throughout  life,  had 
been  calm  in  temperament,  kindly,  though 
not  of  warm  affections,  but  ever,  and  in  all 
his  relations  with  the  world,  a  pure  and 
upright  man.  He  had  begun  an  investiga- 
tion, as  he  imagined,  with  the  severe  and 
equal  integrity  of  a  judge,  desirous  only  of  truth,  even  as  if  the 
question  involved  no  more  than  the  air-drawn  lines  and  figures 
of  a  geometrical  problem,  instead  of  human  passions,  and  wrongs 
inflicted  on  himself.  But,  as  he  proceeded,  a  terrible  fascination, 
a  kind  of  fierce,  though  still  calm,  necessity,  seized  the  old  man 
within  its  gripe,  and  never  set  him  free  again,  until  he  had  done 
all  its  bidding.  He  now  dug  into  the  poor  clergyman's  heart, 
like  a  miner  searching  for  gold ;  or,  rather,  like  a  sexton  delving 
into  a  grave,  possibly  in  quest  of  a  jewel  that  had  been  buried 
on  the  dead  man's  bosom,  but  likely  to  find  nothing  save  mor- 
tality and  corruption.  Alas  for  his  own  soul,  if  these  were 
what  he  sought ! 


156         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Sometimes,  a  light  glimmered  out  of  the  physician's  eyes, 
burning  blue  and  ominous,  like  the  reflection  of  a  furnace,  or, 
let  us  say,  like  one  of  those  gleams  of  ghastly  fire  that  darted 
from  Bunyan's  awful  doorway  in  the  hillside,  and  quivered  on 
the  pilgrim's  face.  The  soil  where  this  dark  miner  was  working 
had  perchance  shown  indications  that  encouraged  him. 

"  This  man,"  said  he,  at  one  such  moment,  to  himself,  "  pure 
as  they  deem  him,  —  all  spiritual  as  he  seems,  —  hath  inherited 
a  strong  animal  nature  from  his  father  or  his  mother.  Let  us 
dig  a  little  further  in  the  direction  of  this  vein !  ** 

Then,  after  long  search  into  the  minister's  dim  interior,  and 
turning  over  many  precious  materials,  in  the  shape  of  high  aspi- 
rations for  the  welfare  of  his  race,  warm  love  of  souls,  pure  sen- 
timents, natural  piety,  strengthened  by  thought  and  study,  and 
illuminated  by  revelation,  —  all  of  which  invaluable  gold  was 
perhaps  no  better  than  rubbish  to  the  seeker,  —  he  would  turn 
back,  discouraged,  and  begin  his  quest  towards  another  point. 
He  groped  along  as  stealthily,  with  as  cautious  a  tread,  and  as 
wary  an  outlook,  as  a  thief  entering  a  chamber  where  a  man 
lies  only  half  asleep, — or,  it  may  be,  broad  awake,  —  with  pur- 
pose to  steal  the  very  treasure  which  this  man  guards  as  the  apple 
of  his  eye.  In  spite  of  his  premeditated  carefulness,  the  floor 
would  now  and  then  creak;  his  garments  would  rustle;  the 
shadow  of  his  presence,  in  a  forbidden  proximity,  would  be  thrown 
across  his  victim.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  whose  sen- 
sibility of  nerve  often  produced  the  effect  of  spiritual  intuition, 
would  become  vaguely  aware  that  something  inimical  to  his 
peace  had  thrust  itself  into  relation  with  him.  But  old  Roger 
Chillingworth,  too,  had  perceptions  that  were  almost  intuitive ; 
and  when  the  minister  threw  his  startled  eyes  towards  him,  there 


THE   LEECH   AND    HIS    PATIENT.  157 

the  physician   sat;    his  kind,  watchful,  sympathizing,  but  never 
intrusive  friend. 

Yet  Mr.  Dimmesdale  would  perhaps  have  seen  this  individual's 
character  more  perfectly,  if  a  certain  morbidness,  to  which  sick 
hearts  are  liable,  had  not  rendered  him  suspicious  of  all  man- 
kind. Trusting  no  man  as  his  friend,  he  could  not  recognize 
his  enemy  when  the  latter  actually  appeared.  He  therefore  still 
kept  up  a  familiar  intercourse  with  him,  daily  receiving  the  old 
physician  in  his  study;  or  visiting  the  laboratory,  and,  for  rec- 
reation's sake,  watching  the  processes  by  which  weeds  were  con- 
verted into  drugs  of  potency. 

One  day,  leaning  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  his  elbow  on 
the  sill  of  the  open  window,  that  looked  towards  the  graveyard, 
he  talked  with  Soger  Chillingworth,  while  the  old  man  was 
examining  a  bundle  of  unsightly  plants. 

"Where,"  asked  he,  with  a  look  askance  at  them,  —  for  it 
was  the  clergyman's  peculiarity  that  he  seldom,  nowadays,  looked 
straightforth  at  any  object,  whether  human  or  inanimate, — 
"where,  my  kind  doctor,  did  you  gather  those  herbs,  with  such 
a  dark,  flabby  leaf?" 

"Even  in  the  graveyard  here  at  hand,"  answered  the  physi- 
cian, continuing  his  employment.  "They  are  new  to  me.  I 
found  them  growing  on  a  grave,  which  bore  no  tombstone,  nor 
other  memorial  of  the  dead  man,  save  these  ugly  weeds,  that 
have  taken  upon  themselves  to  keep  him  in  remembrance.  They 
grew  out  of  his  heart,  and  typify,  it  may  be,  some  hideous  secret 
that  was  buried  with  him,  and  which  he  had  done  better  to 
confess  during  his  lifetime." 

"Perchance,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  "he  earnestly  desired  it, 
but  could  not." 


158  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"And  wherefore?"  rejoined  the  physician.  "Wherefore  not; 
since  all  the  powers  of  nature  call  so  earnestly  for  the  confes- 
sion of  sin,  that  these  black  weeds  have  sprung  up  out  of  a 
buried  heart,  to  make  manifest  an  unspoken  crime  ?  " 

"  That,  good  Sir,  is  but  a  fantasy  of  yours,"  replied  the  min- 
ister. "  There  can  be,  if  I  forebode  aright,  no  power,  short  of 
the  Divine  mercy,  to  disclose,  whether  by  uttered  words,  or  by 
type  or  emblem,  the  secrets  that  may  be  buried  with  a  human 
heart.  The  heart,  making  itself  guilty  of  such  secrets,  must 
perforce  hold  them,  until  the  day  when  all  hidden  things  shall 
be  revealed.  Nor  have  I  so  read  or  interpreted  Holy  Writ,  as 
to  understand  that  the  disclosure  of  human  thoughts  and  deeds, 
then  to  be  made,  is  intended  as  a  part  of  the  retribution.  That, 
surely,  were  a  shallow  view  of  it.  No ;  these  revelations,  unless 
I  greatly  err,  are  meant  merely  to  promote  the  intellectual  satis- 
faction of  all  intelligent  beings,  who  will  stand  waiting,  on  that 
day,  to  see  the  dark  problem  of  this  life  made  plain.  A  knowl- 
edge of  men's  hearts  will  be  needful  to  the  completest  solution 
of  that  problem.  And  I  conceive,  moreover,  that  the  hearts 
holding  such  miserable  secrets  as  you  speak  of  will  yield  them 
up,  at  that  last  day,  not  with  reluctance,  but  with  a  joy  unutter- 
able," 

u  Then  why  not  reveal  them  here  ? "  asked  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  glancing  quietly  aside  at  the  minister.  "Why  should 
not  the  guilty  ones  sooner  avail  themselves  of  this  unutterable 
solace  ?  " 

"  They  mostly  do,"  said  the  clergyman,  griping  hard  at  his 
breast  as  if  afflicted  with  an  importunate  throb  of  pain.  "  Many, 
many  a  poor  soul  hath  given  its  confidence  to  me,  not  only  on 
the  death-bed,  but  while   strong   in  life,  and  fair  in  reputation. 


THE   LEECH   AND    HIS    PATIENT.  159 

And  ever,  after  such  an  outpouring,  O,  what  a  relief  have  I 
witnessed  in  those  sinful  brethren !  even  as  in  one  who  at  last 
draws  free  air,  after  long  stilling  with  his  own  polluted  breath. 
How  can  it  be  otherwise?  Why  should  a  wretched  man,  guilty, 
we  will  say,  of  murder,  prefer  to  keep  the  dead  corpse  buried 
in  his  own  heart,  rather  than  fling  it  forth  at  once,  and  let  the 
universe  take  care  of  it ! " 

"Yet  some  men  bury  their  secrets  thus,"  observed  the  calm 
physician. 

"True;  there  are  such  men,"  answered  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
"But,  not  to  suggest  more  obvious  reasons,  it  may  be  that  they 
are  kept  silent  by  the  very  constitution  of  their  nature.  Or, — ■ 
can  we  not  suppose  it?  —  guilty  as  they  may  be,  retaining, 
nevertheless,  a  zeal  for  God's  glory  and  man's  welfare,  they 
shrink  from  displaying  themselves  black  and  filthy  in  the  view 
of  men;  because,  thenceforward,  no  good  can  be  achieved  by 
them ;  no  evil  of  the  past  be  redeemed  by  better  service.  So,  to 
their  own  unutterable  torment,  they  go  about  among  their  fellow- 
creatures,  looking  pure  as  new-fallen  snow  while  their  hearts 
are  all  speckled  and  spotted  with  iniquity  of  which  they  cannot 
rid  themselves." 

"These  men  deceive  themselves,"  said  Roger  Chillingworth, 
with  somewhat  more  emphasis  than  usual,  and  making  a  slight 
gesture  with  his  forefinger.  "They  fear  to  take  up  the  shame 
that  rightfully  belongs  to  them.  Their  love  for  man,  their  zeal 
for  God's  service,  —  these  holy  impulses  may  or  may  not  coexist 
in  their  hearts  with  the  evil  inmates  to  which  their  guilt  has 
unbarred  the  door,  and  which  must  needs  propagate  a  hellish 
breed  within  them.  But,  if  they  seek  to  glorify  God,  let  them 
not  lift  heavenward  their  unclean  hands  !     If  they  would  serve 


160  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

their  fellow-men,  let  them  do  it  by  making  manifest  the  power 
and  reality  of  conscience,  in  constraining  them  to  penitential 
self-abasement !  Wouldst  thou  have  me  to  believe,  O  wise  and 
pious  friend,  that  a  false  show  can  be  better  —  can  be  more 
for  God's  glory,  or  man's  welfare  —  than  God's  own  truth  ? 
Trust  me,  such  men  deceive  themselves ! " 

"It  may  be  so/'  said  the  young  clergyman,  indifferently,  as 
waiving  a  discussion  that  he  considered  irrelevant  or  unseason- 
able. He  had  a  ready  faculty,  indeed,  of  escaping  from  any 
topic  that  agitated  his  too  sensitive  and  nervous  temperament. 
—  "  But,  now,  I  would  ask  of  my  well-skilled  physician,  whether, 
in  good  sooth,  he  deems  me  to  have  profited  by  his  kindly  care 
of  this  weak  frame  of  mine?" 

Before  Eoger  Chillingworth  could  answer,  they  heard  the  clear, 
wild  laughter  of  a  young  child's  voice,  proceeding  from  the  adja- 
cent burial-ground.  Looking  instinctively  from  the  open  win- 
dow, —  for  it  was  summer-time,  —  the  minister  beheld  Hester 
Prynne  and  little  Pearl  passing  along  the  footpath  that  traversed 
the  enclosure.  Pearl  looked  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  but  was 
in  one  of  those  moods  of  perverse  merriment  which,  whenever 
they  occurred,  seemed  to  remove  her  entirely  out  of  the  sphere 
of  sympathy  or  human  contact.  She  now  skipped  irreverently 
from  one  grave  to  another;  until,  coming  to  the  broad,  flat, 
armorial  tombstone  of  a  departed  worthy,  —  perhaps  of  Isaac 
Johnson  himself,  —  she  began  to  dance  upon  it.  In  reply  to 
her  mother's  command  and  entreaty  that  she  would  behave  more 
decorously,  little  Pearl  paused  to  gather  the  prickly  burrs  from 
a  tall  burdock  which  grew  beside  the  tomb.  Taking  a  handful 
of  these,  she  arranged  them  along  the  lines  of  the  scarlet  letter 
that    decorated   the   maternal  bosom,    to    which    the    burrs,    as 


THE   LEECH   AND    HIS   PATIENT.  161 

their  nature  was,  tenaciously  adhered.  Hester  did  not  pluck 
them  off. 

Roger  Chillingworth  had  by  this  time  approached  the  window, 
and  smiled  grimly  down. 

"  There  is  no  law,  nor  reverence  for  authority,  no  regard  for 
human  ordinances  or  opinions,  right  or  wrong,  mixed  up  with 
that  child's  composition,"  remarked  he,  as  much  to  himself  as 
to  his  companion.  "I  saw  her,  the  other  day,  bespatter  the 
Governor  himself  with  water,  at  the  cattle-trough  in  Spring 
Lane.  What,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  she?  Is  the  imp  alto- 
gether evil  ?  Hath  she  affections  ?  Hath  she  any  discoverable 
principle  of  being  ?  " 

"None,  save  the  freedom  of  a  broken  law,"  answered  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  in  a  quiet  way,  as  if  he  had  been  discussing  the 
point  within  himself.  "Whether  capable  of  good,  I  know 
not." 

The  child  probably  overheard  their  voices;  for,  looking  up 
to  the  window,  with  a  bright,  but  naughty  smile  of  mirth  and 
intelligence,  she  threw  one  of  the  prickly  burrs  at  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  sensitive  clergyman  shrunk,  with  ner- 
vous dread,  from  the  light  missile.  Detecting  his  emotion,  Pearl 
clapped  her  little  hands,  in  the  most  extravagant  ecstasy.  Hester 
Prynne,  likewise,  had  involuntarily  looked  up ;  and  all  these  four 
persons,  old  and  young,  regarded  one  another  in  silence,  till 
the  child  laughed  aloud,  and  shouted,  — "  Come  away,  mother ! 
Come  away,  or  yonder  old  Black  Man  will  catch  you !  He  hath 
got  hold  of  the  minister  already.  Come  away,  mother,  or  he 
will  catch  you !     But  he  cannot  catch  little  Pearl ! " 

So  she  drew  her  mother  away,  skipping,  dancing,  and  frisking 
fantastically,  among  the  hillocks  of  the  dead  people,  like  a  crea- 


162  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ture  that  had  nothing  in  common  with  a  bygone  and  buried 
generation,  nor  owned  herself  akin  to  it.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
been  made  afresh,  out  of  new  elements,  and  must  perforce  be 
permitted  to  live  her  own  life,  and  be  a  law  unto  herself,  with- 
out her  eccentricities  being  reckoned  to  her  for  a  crime. 

"  There  goes  a  woman/'  resumed  Roger  Chillingworth,  after 
a  pause,  "who,  be  her  demerits  what  they  may,  hath  none  of 
that  mystery  of  hidden  sinfulness  which  you  deem  so  grievous 
to  be  borne.  Is  Hester  Prynne  the  less  miserable,  think  you, 
for  that  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast?" 

"I  do  verily  believe  it,"  answered  the  clergyman.  "Never- 
theless, I  cannot  answer  for  her.  There  was  a  look  of  pain  in 
her  face,  which  I  would  gladly  have  been  spared  the  sight  of. 
But  still,  methinks,  it  must  needs  be  better  for  the  sufferer  to 
be  free  to  show  his  pain,  as  this  poor  woman  Hester  is,  than 
to  cover  it  all  up  in  his  heart." 

There  was  another  pause;  and  the  physician  began  anew  to 
examine  and  arrange  the  plants  which  he  had  gathered. 

"You  inquired  of  me,  a  little  time  agone,"  said  he,  at  length, 
"my  judgment  as  touching  your  health." 

"I  did,"  answered  the  clergyman,  "and  would  gladly  learn 
it.     Speak  frankly,  I  pray  you,  be  it  for  life  or  death." 

"Freely,  then,  and  plainly,"  said  the  physician,  still  busy 
with  his  plants,  but  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
"the  disorder  is  a  strange  one;  not  so  much  in  itself,  nor  as 
outwardly  manifested,  —  in  so  far,  at  least,  as  the  symptoms 
have  been  laid  open  to  my  observation.  Looking  daily  at  you, 
my  good  Sir,  and  watching  the  tokens  of  your  aspect,  now  for 
months  gone  by,  I  should  deem  you  a  man  sore  sick,  it  may  be, 
yet   not   so   sick  but  that  an  instructed  and  watchful  physician 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT.  163 

might  well  hope  to  cure  you.     But  —  I  know  not  what  to  say  — 
the  disease  is  what  I  seem  to  know,  yet  know  it  not." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  learned  Sir,"  said  the  pale  minister, 
glancing  aside  out  of  the  window. 

"Then,  to  speak  more  plainly/''  continued  the  physician,  "and 
I  crave  pardon,  Sir,  —  should  it  seem  to  require  pardon,  —  for 
this  needful  plainness  of  my  speech.  Let  me  ask,  —  as  your 
friend,  —  as  one  having  charge,  under  Providence,  of  your  life 
and  physical  well-being,  —  hath  all  the  operation  of  this  disorder 
been  fairly  laid  open  and  recounted  to  me  ? " 

"  How  can  you  question  it  ? "  asked  the  minister.  "  Surely, 
it  were  child's  play,  to  call  in  a  physician,  and  then  hide  the 
sore ! " 

"  You  would  tell  me,  then,  that  I  know  all  ?  "  said  Eoger  Chil- 
lingworth,  deliberately,  and  fixing  an  eye,  bright  with  intense 
and  concentrated  intelligence,  on  the  minister's  face.  "  Be  it  so ! 
But,  again !  He  to  whom  only  the  outward  and  physical  evil 
is  laid  open,  knoweth,  oftentimes,  but  half  the  evil  which  he  is 
called  upon  to  cure.  A  bodily  disease,  which  we  look  upon  as 
whole  and  entire  within  itself,  may,  after  all,  be  but  a  symptom- 
of  some  ailment  in  the  spiritual  part.  Your  pardon,  once  again, 
good  Sir,  if  my  speech  give  the  shadow  of  offence.  You,  Sir, 
of  all  men  whom  I  have  known,  are  he  whose  body  is  the  closest 
conjoined,  and  imbued,  and  identified,  so  to  speak,  with  the  spirit 
whereof  it  is  the  instrument." 

"Then  I  need  ask  no  further,"  said  the  clergyman,  somewhat 
hastily  rising  from  his  chair.  "  You  deal  not,  I  take  it,  in  medi- 
cine for  the  soul !  " 

"Thus,  a  sickness,"  continued  Roger  Chillingworth,  going  on, 
in   an   unaltered   tone,    without   heeding    the   interruption,  —  but 


164  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

standing  up,  and  confronting  the  emaciated  and  white-cheeked 
minister,  with  his  low,  dark,  and  misshapen  figure,  —  "a  sick- 
ness, a  sore  place,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  in  your  spirit,  hath  imme- 
diately its  appropriate  manifestation  in  your  bodily  frame.  Would 
you,  therefore,  that  your  physician  heal  the  bodily  evil?  How 
may  this  be,  unless  you  first  lay  open  to  him  the  wound  or  trouble 
in  your  soul?" 

"  No  !  —  not  to  thee  !  —  not  to  an  earthly  physician  !  "  cried 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  passionately,  and  turning  his  eyes,  full  and 
bright,  and  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  on  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth.  "  Not  to  thee  !  But  if  it  be  the  soul's  disease,  then 
do  I  commit  myself  to  the  one  Physician  of  the  soul !  He, 
if  it  stand  with  his  good  pleasure,  can  cure ;  or  he  can  kill ! 
Let  him  do  with  me  as,  in  his  justice  and  wisdom,  he 
shall  see  good.  But  who  art  thou,  that  meddlest  in  this  mat- 
ter?—  that  dares  thrust  himself  between  the  sufferer  and  his 
God  ?  " 

With  a  frantic  gesture  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"It  is  as  well  to  have  made  this  step,"  said  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  to  himself,  looking  after  the  minister  with  a  grave  smile. 
"There  is  nothing  lost.  We  shall  be  friends  again  anon.  But 
see,  now,  how  passion  takes  hold  upon  this  man,  and  hurrieth 
him  out  of  himself !  As  with  one  passion,  so  with  another ! 
He  hath  done  a  wild  thing  erenow,  this  pious  Master  Dimmes- 
dale, in  the  hot  passion  of  his  heart ! M 

It  proved  not  difficult  to  re-establish  the  intimacy  of  the  two 
companions,  on  the  same  footing  and  in  the  same  degree  as 
heretofore.  The  young  clergyman,  after  a  few  hours  of  privacy, 
was  sensible  that  the  disorder  of  his  nerves  had  hurried  him 
into    an    unseemly    outbreak    of   temper,  which    there    had    been 


THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT. 


165 


nothing  in  the  physician's  words  to  excuse  or  palliate.  He 
marvelled,  indeed,  at  the  violence  with  which  he  had  thrust 
back  the  kind  old  man,  when  merely  proffering  the  advice 
which  it  was  his  duty  to  bestow,  and  which  the  minister  him- 
self had  expressly  sought.  With  these  remorseful  feelings,  he 
lost  no  time  in  making  the  amplest  apologies,  and  besought  his 
friend    still   to    continue    the    care,  which,    if   not    successful    in 


restoring  him  to  health,  had,  in  all  probability,  been  the  means 
of  prolonging  his  feeble  existence  to  that  hour.  Eoger  Chilling- 
worth  readily  assented,  and  went  on  with  his  medical  super- 
vision of  the  minister ;  doing  his  best  for  him,  in  all  good 
faith,  but  always  quitting  the  patient's  apartment,  at  the  close 
of  a  professional  interview,  with  a  mysterious  and  puzzled  smile 
upon    his    lips.      This  expression  was  invisible  in  Mr.  Dimmes- 


166  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

dale's  presence,  but  grew  strongly  evident  as  the  physician 
crossed  the  threshold. 

"  A  rare  case  !  n  he  muttered.  "  I  must  needs  look  deeper 
into  it.  A  strange  sympathy  betwixt  soul  and  body !  Were 
it  only  for  the  art's  sake,  I  must  search  this  matter  to  the 
bottom  !  " 

It  came  to  pass,  not  long  after  the  scene  above  recorded, 
that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  noonday,  and  entirely 
unawares,  fell  into  a  deep,  deep  slumber,  sitting  in  his  chair, 
with  a  large  black-letter  volume  open  before  him  on  the  table. 
It  must  have  been  a  work  of  vast  ability  in  the  somniferous 
school  of  literature.  The  profound  depth  of  the  minister's 
repose  was  the  more  remarkable,  inasmuch  as  he  was  one  of 
those  persons  whose  sleep,  ordinarily,  is  as  light,  as  fitful,  and 
as  easily  scared  away,  as  a  small  bird  hopping  on  a  twig.  To 
such  an  unwonted  remoteness,  however,  had  his  spirit  now  with- 
drawn into  itself,  that  he  stirred  not  in  his  chair,  when  old 
Roger  Chillingworth,  without  any  extraordinary  precaution,  came 
into  the  room.  The  physician  advanced  directly  in  front  of 
his  patient,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  bosom,  and  thrust  aside 
the  vestment,  that,  hitherto,  had  always  covered  it  even  from 
the  professional  eye. 

Then,  indeed,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  shuddered,  and  slightly  stirred. 

After  a  brief  pause,  the  physician  turned  away. 

But,  with  what  a  wild  look  of  wonder,  joy,  and  horror !  With 
what  a  ghastly  rapture,  as  it  were,  too  mighty  to  be  expressed 
only  by  the  eye  and  features,  and  therefore  bursting  forth  through 
the  whole  ugliness  of  his  figure,  and  making  itself  even  riotously 
manifest  by  the  extravagant  gestures  with  which  he  threw  up  his 
arms  towards  the  ceiling,  and  stamped   his  foot  upon  the  floor! 


THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT 


167 


Had  a  man  seen  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  at  that  moment  of  his 
ecstasy,  he  would  have  had  no  need  to  ask  how  Satan  comports 
himself,  when  a  precious  human  soul  is  lost  to  heaven,  and  won 
into  his  kingdom. 

But  what   distinguished  the  physician's   ecstasy  from   Satan's 
was  the  trait  of  wonder  in  it ! 


XI. 


THE  INTERIOR   OP  A  HEART. 


PTER  the  incident  last  described,  the  inter- 
course between  the  clergyman  and  the  phy- 
sician, though  externally  the  same,  was  really 
of  another  character  than  it  had  previously 
been.  The  intellect  of  Roger  Chilling  worth 
had  now  a  sufficiently  plain  path  before  it. 
It  was  not,  indeed,  precisely  that  which  lie  had  laid  out  for  him- 
self to  tread.  Calm,  gentle,  passionless,  as  he  appeared,  there 
was  yet,  we  fear,  a  quiet  depth  of  malice,  hitherto  latent,  but 
active  now,  in  this  unfortunate  old  man,  which  led  him  to  imagine 
a  more  intimate  revenge  than  any  mortal  had  ever  wreaked  upon 
an  enemy.  To  make  himself  the  one  trusted  friend,  to  whom 
should  be  confided  all  the  fear,  the  remorse,  the  agony,  the  inef- 
fectual repentance,  the  backward  rush  of  sinful  thoughts,  expelled 
in  vain !  All  that  guilty  sorrow,  hidden  from  the  world,  whose 
great  heart  would  have  pitied  and  forgiven,  to  be  revealed  to  him, 
the  Pitiless,  to  him,  the  Unforgiving !  All  that  dark  treasure 
to  be  lavished  on  the  very  man,  to  whom  nothing  else  could  so 
adequately  pay  the  debt  of  vengeance ! 


THE   INTERIOR   OF   A   HEART.  169 

The  clergyman's  shy  and  sensitive  reserve  had  balked  this 
scheme.  Roger  Chillingworth,  however,  was  inclined  to  be 
hardly,  if  at  all,  less  satisfied  with  the  aspect  of  affairs,  which 
Providence  —  using  the  avenger  and  his  victim  for  its  own  pur- 
poses, and,  perchance,  pardoning  where  it  seemed  most  to  punish 
—  had  substituted  for  his  black  devices.  A  revelation,  he  could 
almost  say,  had  been  granted  to  him.  It  mattered  little,  for  his 
object,  whether  celestial,  or  from  what  other  region.  By  its  aid, 
in  all  the  subsequent  relations  betwixt  him  and  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
not  merely  the  external  presence,  but  the  very  inmost  soul,  of  the 
latter,  seemed  to  be  brought  out  before  his  eyes,  so  that  he 
could  see  and  comprehend  its  every  movement.  He  became, 
thenceforth,  not  a  spectator  only,  but  a  chief  actor,  in  the  poor 
minister's  interior  world.  He  could  play  upon  him  as  he  chose. 
Would  he  arouse  him  with  a  throb  of  agony?  The  victim  was 
forever  on  the  rack;  it  needed  only  to  know  the  spring  that  con- 
trolled the  engine ;  —  and  the  physician  knew  it  well !  Would 
he  startle  him  with  sudden  fear?  As  at  the  waving  of  a  magi- 
cian's wand,  uprose  a  grisly  phantom,  —  uprose  a  thousand  phan- 
toms,—  in  many  shapes,  of  death,  or  more  awful  shame,  all 
flocking  round  about  the  clergyman,  and  pointing  with  their 
fingers  at  his  breast ! 

All  this  was  accomplished  with  a  subtlety  so  perfect,  that  the 
minister,  though  he  had  constantly  a  dim  perception  of  some 
evil  influence  watching  over  him,  could  never  gain  a  knowledge 
of  its  actual  nature.  True,  he  looked  doubtfully,  fearfully, — 
even,  at  times,  with  horror  and  the  bitterness  of  hatred,  —  at 
the  deformed  figure  of  the  old  physician.  His  gestures,  his  gait, 
his  grizzled  beard,  his  slightest  and  most  indifferent  acts,  the 
very   fashion   of  his   garments,  were   odious   in  the   clergyman's 


170  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

sight;  a  token  implicitly  to  be  relied  on,  of  a  deeper  antipathy 
in  the  breast  of  the  latter  than  he  was  willing  to  acknowledge 
to  himself.  For,  as  it  was  impossible  to  assign  a  reason  for 
such  distrust  and  abhorrence,  so  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  conscious  that 
the  poison  of  one  morbid  spot  was  infecting  his  heart's  entire 
substance,  attributed  all  his  presentiments  to  no  other  cause. 
He  took  himself  to  task  for  his  bad  sympathies  in  reference  to 
Roger  Chillingworth,  disregarded  the  lesson  that  he  should  have 
drawn  from  them,  and  did  his  best  to  root  them  out.  Unable 
to  accomplish  this,  he  nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of  principle, 
continued  his  habits  of  social  familiarity  with  the  old  man,  and 
thus  gave  him  constant  opportunities  for  perfecting  the  purpose 
to  which  —  poor,  forlorn  creature  that  he  was,  and  more  wretched 
than  his  victim  —  the  avenger  had  devoted  himself. 

While  thus  suffering  under  bodily  disease,  and  gnawed  and 
tortured  by  some  black  trouble  of  the  soul,  and  given  over 
to  the  machinations  of  his  deadliest  enemy,  the  Eeverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  had  achieved  a  brilliant  popularity  in  his  sacred 
office.  He  won  it,  indeed,  in  great  part,  by  his  sorrows.  His 
intellectual  gifts,  his  moral  perceptions,  his  power  of  experi- 
encing and  communicating  emotion,  were  kept  in  a  state  of 
preternatural  activity  by  the  prick  and  anguish  of  his  daily 
life.  His  fame,  though  still  on  its  upward  slope,  already  over- 
shadowed the  soberer  reputations  of  his  fellow-clergymen,  eminent 
as  several  of  them  were.  There  were  scholars  among  them,  who 
had  spent  more  years  in  acquiring  abstruse  lore,  connected  with 
the  divine  profession,  than  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  lived;  and  who 
might  well,  therefore,  be  more  profoundly  versed  in  such  solid 
and  valuable  attainments  than  their  youthful  brother.  There 
were   men,   too,    of    a  sturdier  texture   of  mind  than  his,   and 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  171 

endowed  with  a  far  greater  share  of  shrewd,  hard,  iron,  or  gran- 
ite understanding;  which,  duly  mingled  with  a  fair  proportion 
of  doctrinal  ingredient,  constitutes  a  highly  respectable,  effica- 
cious, and  unamiable  variety  of  the  clerical  species.  There  were 
others,  again,  true  saintly  fathers,  whose  faculties  had  been  elabo- 
rated by  weary  toil  among  their  books,  and  by  patient  thought, 
and  etherealized,  moreover,  by  spiritual  communications  with  the 
better  world,  into  which  their  purity  of  life  had  almost  intro- 
duced these  holy  personages,  with  their  garments  of  mortality 
still  clinging  to  them.  All  that  they  lacked  was  the  gift  that 
descended  upon  the  chosen  disciples  at  Pentecost,  in  tongues 
of  flame;  symbolizing,  it  would  seem,  not  the  power  of  speech 
in  foreign  and  unknown  languages,  but  that  of  addressing  the 
whole  human  brotherhood  in  the  heart's  native  language.  These 
fathers,  otherwise  so  apostolic,  lacked  Heaven's  last  and  rarest 
attestation  of  their  office,  the  Tongue  of  Flame.  They  would 
have  vainly  sought  —  had  they  ever  dreamed  of  seeking  —  to 
express  the  highest  truths  through  the  humblest  medium  of 
familiar  words  and  images.  Their  vocies  came  down,  afar  and 
indistinctly,  from  the  upper  heights  where  they  habitually  dwelt. 
Not  improbably,  it  was  to  this  latter  class  of  men  that  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  by  many  of  his  traits  of  character,  naturally  belonged. 
To  the  high  mountain-peaks  of  faith  and  sanctity  he  would  have 
climbed,  had  not  the  tendency  been  thwarted  by  the  burden, 
whatever  it  might  be,  of  crime  or  anguish,  beneath  which  it  was 
his  doom  to  totter.  It  kept  him  down,  on  a  level  with  the  low- 
est; him,  the  man  of  ethereal  attributes,  whose  voice  the  angels 
might  else  have  listened  to  and  answered !  But  this  very  bur- 
den it  was,  that  gave  him  sympathies  so  intimate  with  the  sinful 
brotherhood   of  mankind;    so  that  his  heart   vibrated  in  unison 


172 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


with  theirs,  and  received  their  pain  into  itself,  and  sent  its  own 
throb  of  pain  through  a  thousand  other  hearts,  in  gushes  of 
sad,  persuasive  eloquence.  Oftenest  persuasive,  but  sometimes 
terrible !  The  people  knew  not  the  power  that  moved  them 
thus.  They  deemed  the  young  clergyman  a  miracle  of  holiness. 
They  fancied  him  the  mouthpiece  of  Heaven's  messages  of  wis- 
dom, and  rebuke,  and  love.     In  their  eyes,  the   very  ground  on 

which  he  trod  was  sanc- 
tified. The  virgins  of 
his  church  grew  pale 
around  him,  victims  of 
a  passion  so  imbued  with 
religious  sentiment  that 
they  imagined  it  to  be 
all  religion, 
and  brought 
it  openly,  in 
their  white 
bosoms,  as 
their  most 
acceptable 
sacrifice  be- 
fore the  altar. 
The  aged 
members  of 
his  flock,  be- 
holding Mr.  Dimmesdale's  frame  so  feeble,  while  they  were  them- 
selves so  rugged  in  their  infirmity,  believed  that  he  would  go 
heavenward  before  them,  and  enjoined  it  upon  their  children, 
that  their  old  bones  should  be  buried  close  to  their  young  pas- 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  173 

tor's  holy  grave.  And,  all  this  time,  perchance,  when  poor  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  was  thinking  of  his  grave,  he  questioned  with  him- 
self whether  the  grass  would  ever  grow  on  it,  because  an  accursed 
thing  must  there  be  buried! 

It  is  inconceivable,  the  agony  with  which  this  public  venera- 
tion tortured  him !  It  was  his  genuine  impulse  to  adore  the 
truth,  and  to  reckon  all  things  shadow-like,  and  utterly  devoid 
of  weight  or  value,  that  had  not  its  divine  essence  as  the  life 
within  their  life.  Then,  what  was  he  ?  —  a  substance  ?  —  or  the 
dimmest  of  all  shadows?  He  longed  to  speak  out,  from  his 
own  pulpit,  at  the  full  height  of  his  voice,  and  tell  the  people 
what  he  was.  "I,  whom  you  behold  in  these  black  garments 
of  the  priesthood,  —  I,  who  ascend  the  sacred  desk,  and  turn 
my  pale  face  heavenward,  taking  upon  myself  to  hold  commun- 
ion, in  your  behalf,  with  the  Most  High  Omniscience,  —  I,  in 
whose  daily  life  you  discern  the  sanctity  of  Enoch,  —  I,  whose 
footsteps,  as  you  suppose,  leave  a  gleam  along  my  earthly  track, 
whereby  the  pilgrims  that  shall  come  after  me  may  be  guided 
to  the  regions  of  the  blest,  —  I,  who  have  laid  the  hand  of 
baptism  upon  your  children,  —  I,  who  have  breathed  the  part- 
ing prayer  over  your  dying  friends,  to  whom  the  Amen  sounded 
faintly  from  a  world  which  they  had  quitted,  —  I,  your  pastor, 
whom  you  so  reverence  and  trust,  am  utterly  a  pollution  and 
a  lie ! " 

More  than  once,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  gone  into  the  pulpit, 
with  a  purpose  never  to  come  down  its  steps,  until  he  should 
have  spoken  words  like  the  above.  More  than  once,  he  had 
cleared  his  throat,  and  drawn  in  the  long,  deep,  and  tremulous 
brenth,  which,  when  sent  forth  again,  would  come  burdened 
witli  the  black  secret  of  his  soul.     More  than  once  —  nay,  more 


174  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

than  a  hundred  times  —  he  had  actually  spoken !  Spoken ! 
But  how?  He  had  told  his  hearers  that  he  was  altogether  vile, 
a  viler  companion  of  the  vilest,  the  worst  of  sinners,  an  abom- 
ination, a  thing  of  unimaginable  iniquity;  and  that  the  only 
wonder  was,  that  they  did  not  see  his  wretched  body  shrivelled 
up  before  their  eyes,  by  the  burning  wrath  of  the  Almighty  ! 
Could  there  be  plainer  speech  than  this?  Would  not  the  people 
start  up  in  their  seats,  by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  and  tear  him 
down  out  of  the  pulpit  which  he  denied  ?  Not  so,  indeed ! 
They  heard  it  all,  and  did  but  reverence  him  the  more.  They 
little  guessed  what  deadly  purport  lurked  in  those  self-condemn- 
ing words.  "  The  godly  youth  !  "  said  they  among  themselves. 
u  The  saint  on  earth  !  Alas,  if  he  discern  such  sinfulness  in  his 
own  white  soul,  what  horrid  spectacle  would  he  behold  in  thine 
or  mine ! "  The  minister  well  knew  —  subtle,  but  remorseful 
hypocrite  that  he  was  !  —  the  light  in  which  his  vague  confes- 
sion would  be  viewed.  He  had  striven  to  put  a  cheat  upon 
himself  by  making  the  avowal  of  a  guilty  conscience,  but  had 
gained  only  one  other  sin,  and  a  self-acknowledged  shame,  with- 
out the  momentary  relief  of  being  self-deceived.  He  had  spoken 
the  very  truth,  and  transformed  it  into  the  veriest  falsehood. 
And  yet,  by  the  constitution  of  his  nature,  he  loved  the  truth, 
and  loathed  the  lie,  as  few  men  ever  did.  Therefore,  above  all 
things  else,  he  loathed  his  miserable  self ! 

His  inward  trouble  drove  him  to  practices  more  in  accord- 
ance with  the  old,  corrupted  faith  of  Rome,  than  with  the  better 
light  of  the  church  in  which  he  had  been  born  and  bred.  In 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  secret  closet,  under  lock  and  key,  there  was 
a  bloody  scourge.  Oftentimes,  this  Protestant  and  Puritan  divine 
had  plied  it  on  his  own  shoulders;  laughing  bitterly  at  himself 


THE    INTERIOR    OE   A    HEART.  175 

the  while,  and  smiting  so  much  the  more  pitilessly  because  of 
that  bitter  laugh.  It  was  his  custom,  too,  as  it  has  been  that 
of  many  other  pious  Puritans,  to  fast,  —  not,  however,  like 
them,  in  order  to  purify  the  body  and  render  it  the  fitter 
medium  of  celestial  illumination,  but  rigorously,  and  until  his 
knees  trembled  beneath  him,  as  an  act  of  penance.  He  kept 
vigils,  likewise,  night  after  night,  sometimes  in  utter  darkness; 
sometimes  with  a  glimmering  lamp;  and  sometimes,  viewing 
his  own  face  in  a  looking-glass,  by  the  most  powerful  light 
which  he  could  throw  upon  it.  He  thus  typified  the  constant 
introspection  wherewith  he  tortured,  but  could  not  purify,  him- 
self. In  these  lengthened  vigils,  his  brain  often  reeled,  and 
visions  seemed  to  flit  before  him;  perhaps  seen  doubtfully, 
and  by  a  faint  light  of  their  own,  in  the  remote  dimness  of 
the  chamber,  or  more  vividly,  and  close  beside  him,  within 
the  looking-glass.  Now  it  was  a  herd  of  diabolic  shapes,  that 
grinned  and  mocked  at  the  pale  minister,  and  beckoned  him 
away  with  them ;  now  a  group  of  shining  angels,  who  flew 
upward  heavily,  as  sorrow-laden,  but  grew  more  ethereal  as  they 
rose.  Now  came  the  dead  friends  of  his  youth,  and  his  white- 
bearded  father,  with  a  saint-like  frown,  and  his  mother,  turning 
her  face  away  as  she  passed  by.  Ghost  of  a  mother,  —  thinnest 
fantasy  of  a  mother,  —  methinks  she  might  yet  have  thrown  a 
pitying  glance  towards  her  son !  And  now,  through  the  chamber 
which  these  spectral  thoughts  had  made  so  ghastly,  glided  Hester 
Prynne,  leading  along  little  Pearl,  in  her  scarlet  garb,  and 
pointing  her  forefinger,  first  at  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  bosom, 
and  then  at  the  clergyman's  own  breast. 

None  of  these  visions  ever  quite  deluded  him.     At  any  moment, 
by  an  effort  of  his  will,  he  could  discern  substances  through  their 


176  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

misty  lack  of  substance,  and  convince  himself  that  they  were  not 
solid  in  their  nature,  like  yonder  table  of  carved  oak,  or  that  big, 
square,  leathern-bound  and  brazen-clasped  volume  of  divinity. 
But,  for  all  that,  they  were,  in  one  sense,  the  truest  and  most 
substantial  things  which  the  poor  minister  now  dealt  with.  It 
is  the  unspeakable  misery  of  a  life  so  false  as  his,  that  it  steals 
the  pith  and  substance  out  of  whatever  realities  there  are  around, 
us,  and  which  were  meant  by  Heaven  to  be  the  spirit's  joy  and 
nutriment.  To  the  untrue  man,  the  whole  universe  is  false,  —  it 
is  impalpable,  —  it  shrinks  to  nothing  within  his  grasp.  And  he 
himself,  in  so  far  as  he  shows  himself  in  a  false  light,  becomes 
a  shadow,  or,  indeed,  ceases  to  exist.  The  only  truth  that  con- 
tinued to  give  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  real  existence  on  this  earth, 
was  the  anguish  in  his  inmost  soul,  and  the  undissembled  expres- 
sion of  it  in  his  aspect.  Had  he  once  found  power  to  smile, 
and  wear  a  face  of  gayety,  there  would  have  been  no  such 
man  ! 

On  one  of  those  ugly  nights,  which  we  have  faintly  hinted  at, 
but  forborne  to  picture  forth,  the  minister  started  from  his  chair. 
A  new  thought  had  struck  him.  There  might  be  a  moment's 
peace  in  it.  Attiring  himself  with  as  much  care  as  if  it  had 
been  for  public  worship,  and  precisely  in  the  same  manner,  he 
stole  softly  down  the  staircase,  undid  the  door,  and  issued  forth. 


XII. 


THE     MINISTER'S     VIGIL. 


&E2j£JjUffi5  ALKING  in  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  as  it 
3  were,  and  perhaps  actually  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  species  of  somnambulism,  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  reached  the  spot  where,  now 
so  long  since,  Hester  Prynne  had  lived 
through  her  first  hours  of  public  ignominy. 
The  same  platform  or  scaffold,  black  and  weather-stained  with 
the  storm  or  sunshine  of  seven  long  years,  and  foot-worn,  too, 
with  the  tread  of  many  culprits  who  had  since  ascended  it, 
remained  standing  beneath  the  balcony  of  the  meeting-house. 
The  minister  went  up  the  steps. 

It  was  an  obscure  night  of  early  May.  An  unvaried  pall  of 
cloud  muffled  the  whole  expanse  of  sky  from  zenith  to  horizon. 
If  the  same  multitude  which  had  stood  as  eye-witnesses  while 
Hester  Prynne  sustained  her  punishment  could  now  have  been 
summoned  forth,  they  would  have  discerned  no  face  above  the 
platform,  nor  hardly  the  outline  of  a  human  shape,  in  the  dark 
gray  of  the  midnight.  But  the  town  was  all  asleep.  There 
was  no  peril  of  discovery.     The  minister   might  stand  there,  if 


178  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

it  so  pleased  him,  until  morning  should  redden  in  the  east, 
without  other  risk  than  that  the  dank  and  chill  night-air  would 
creep  into  his  frame,  and  stiffen  his  joints  with  rheumatism,  and 
clog  his  throat  with  catarrh  and  cough ;  thereby  defrauding 
the  expectant  audience  of  to-morrow's  prayer  and  sermon.  No 
eye  could  see  him,  save  that  ever-wakeful  one  which  had  seen 
him  in  his  closet,  wielding  the  bloody  scourge.  Why,  then, 
had  he  come  hither  ?  Was  it  but  the  mockery  of  penitence  ? 
A  mockery,  indeed,  but  in  which  his  soul  trifled  with  itself !  A 
mockery  at  which  angels  blushed  and  wept,  while  fiends  rejoiced, 
with  jeering  laughter !  He  had  been  driven  hither  by  the 
impulse  of  that  Remorse  which  dogged  him  everywhere,  and 
whose  own  sister  and  closely  linked  companion  was  that 
Cowardice  which  invariably  drew  him  back,  with  her  tremulous 
gripe,  just  when  the  other  impulse  had  hurried  him  to  the  verge 
of  a  disclosure.  Poor,  miserable  man  !  what  right  had  infirmity 
like  his  to  burden  itself  with  crime  ?  Crime  is  for  the  iron- 
nerved,  who  have  their  choice  either  to  endure  it,  or,  if  it  press 
too  hard,  to  exert  their  fierce  and  savage  strength  for  a  good 
purpose,  and  fling  it  off  at  once !  This  feeble  and  most  sensi- 
tive of  spirits  could  do  neither,  yet  continually  did  one  thing 
or  another,  which  intertwined,  in  the  same  inextricable  knot,  the 
agony  of  heaven-defying  guilt  and  vain  repentance. 

And  thus,  while  standing  on  the  scaffold,  in  this  vain  show 
of  expiation,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  overcome  with  a  great  horror 
of  mind,  as  if  the  universe  were  gazing  at  a  scarlet  token  on 
his  naked  breast,  right  over  his  heart.  On  that  spot,  in  very 
truth,  there  was,  and  there  had  long  been,  the  gnawing  and 
poisonous  tooth  of  bodily  pain.  Without  any  effort  of  his  will, 
or  power  to  restrain  himself,  he  shrieked  aloud ;  an  outcry  that 


THE    MINISTER'S   VIGIL.  179 

went  pealing  through  the  night,  and  was  beaten  back  from  one 
house  to  another,  and  reverberated  from  the  hills  in  the  back- 
ground ;  as  if  a  company  of  devils,  detecting  so  much  misery 
and  terror  in  it,  had  made  a  plaything  of  the  sound,  and  were 
bandying  it  to  and  fro. 

"  It  is  done  !  u  muttered  the  minister,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands.  "The  whole  town  will  awake,  and  hurry  forth,  and 
rind  me  here  !  " 

But  it  was  not  so.  The  shriek  had  perhaps  sounded  with  a 
far  greater  power,  to  his  own  startled  ears,  than  it  actually 
possessed.  The  town  did  not  awake;  or,  if  it  did,  the  drowsy 
slumberers  mistook  the  cry  either  for  something  frightful  in  a 
dream,  or  for  the  noise  of  witches;  whose  voices,  at  that  period, 
were  'often  heard  to  pass  over  the  settlements  or  lonely  cottages, 
as  they  rode  with  Satan  through  the  air.  The  clergyman,  there^ 
fore,  hearing  no  symptoms  of  disturbance,  uncovered  his  eyes, 
and  looked  about  him.  At  one  of  the  chamber-windows  of 
Governor  Bellingham's  mansion,  which  stood  at  some  distance, 
on  the  line  of  another  street,  he  beheld  the  appearanee  of  the 
old  magistrate  himself,  with  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  a  white  night- 
cap on  his  head,  and  a  long  white  gown  enveloping  his  figure. 
He  looked  like  a  ghost,  evoked  unseasonably  from  the  grave. 
The  cry  had  evidently  startled  him.  At  another  window  of  the 
same  house,  moreover,  appeared  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  Gov- 
ernor's sister,  also  with  a  lamp,  which,  even  thus  far  off, 
revealed  the  expression  of  her  sour  and  discontented  face.  She 
thrust  forth  her  head  from  the  lattice,  and  looked  anxiously 
upward.  Beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  this  venerable  witch- 
lady  had  heard  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  outcry,  and  interpreted  it, 
with  its  multitudinous  echoes  and  reverberations,  as  the  clamor 


180  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

of  the  fiends  and  night-hags,  with  whom  she  was  well  known  to 
make  excursions  into  the  forest. 

Detecting  the  gleam  of  Governor  Bellingham's  lamp,  the  old 
lady  quickly  extinguished  her  own,  and  vanished.  Possibly,  she 
went  up  among  the  clouds.  The  minister  saw  nothing  further 
of  her  motions.  The  magistrate,  after  a  wary  observation  of  the 
darkness,  —  into  which,  nevertheless,  he  could  see  but  little  further 
than  he  might  into  a  mill-stone,  —  retired  from  the  window. 

The  minister  grew  comparatively  calm.  His  eyes,  however, 
were  soon  greeted  by  a  little,  glimmering  light,  which,  at  first 
a  long  way  off,  was  approaching  up  the  street.  It  threw  a 
gleam  of  recognition  on  here  a  -post,  and  there  a  garden-fence, 
and  here  a  latticed  window-pane,  and  there  a  pump,  with  its 
full  trough  of  water,  and  here,  again,  an  arched  door  of  oak, 
with  an  iron  knocker,  and  a  rough  log  for  the  doorstep.  The 
Eeverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  noted  all  these  minute  particulars, 
even  while  firmly  convinced  that  the  doom  of  his  existence  was 
stealing  onward,  in  the  footsteps  which  he  now  heard ;  and  that 
the  gleam  of  the  lantern  would  fall  upon  him,  in  a  few  moments 
more,  and  reveal  his  long-hidden  secret.  As  the  light  drew 
nearer,  he  beheld,  within  its  illuminated  circle,  his  brother  clergy- 
man, —  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  his  professional  father,  as 
well  as  highly  valued  friend,  —  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson ;  who, 
as  Mr.  Dimmesdale  now  conjectured,  had  been  praying  at  the 
bedside  of  some  dying  man.  And  so  he  had.  The  good  old 
minister  came  freshly  from  the  death-chamber  of  Governor 
Winthrop,  who  had  passed  from  earth  to  heaven  within  that 
very  hour.  And  now,  surrounded,  like  the  saint-like  personages 
of  olden  times,  with  a  radiant  halo,  that  glorified  him  amid 
this    gloomy  night   of   sin,  —  as  if   the   departed  Governor   had 


THE   MINISTER'S   VIGIL.  Igl 

left  liim  an  inheritance  of  his  glory,  or  as  if  he  had  caught 
upon  himself  the  distant  shine  of  the  celestial  city,  while  look- 
ing thitherward  to  see  the  triumphant  pilgrim  pass  within  its 
gates,  —  now,  in  short,  good  Father  Wilson  was  moving  home- 
ward, aiding  his  footsteps  with  a  lighted  lantern !  The  glimmer 
of  this  luminary  suggested  the  above  conceits  to  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  who  smiled,  —  nay,  almost  laughed  at  them,  —  and  then 
wondered  if  he  were  going  mad. 

As  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  passed  beside  the  scaffold,  closely 
muffling  his  Geneva  cloak  about  him  with  one  arm,  and  holding 
the  lantern  before  his  breast  with  the  other,  the  minister  could 
hardly  restrain  himself  from  speaking. 

"A  good  evening  to  you,  venerable  Father  Wilson!  Come 
up  hither,  I  pray  you,  and  pass  a  pleasant  hour  with  me  !  ** 

Good  heavens !  Had  Mr.  Dimmesdale  actually  spoken  ?  For 
one  instant,  he  believed  that  these  words  had  passed  his  lips. 
But  they  were  uttered  only  within  his  imagination.  The  venerable 
Father  Wilson  continued  to  step  slowly  onward,  looking  carefully 
at  the  muddy  pathway  before  his  feet,  and  never  once  turning 
his  head  towards  the  guilty  platform.  When  the  light  of  the  glim- 
mering lantern  had  faded  quite  away,  the  minister  discovered,  by 
the  faintness  which  came  over  him,  that  the  last  few  moments  had 
been  a  crisis  of  terrible  anxiety ;  although  his  mind  had  made  an 
involuntary  effort  to  relieve  itself  by  a  kind  of  lurid  playfulness. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  like  grisly  sense  of  the  humorous  again 
stole  in  among  the  solemn  phantoms  of  his  thought.  He  felt 
his  limbs  growing  stiff  with  the  unaccustomed  chilliness  of  the 
night,  and  doubted  whether  he  should  be  able  to  descend  the 
steps  of  the  scaffold.  Morning  would  break,  and  find  him  there. 
The   neighborhood   would    begin    to    rouse    itself.     The   earliest 


182  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

riser,  coming  forth  in  the  dim  twilight,  would  perceive  a  vaguely 
denned  figure  aloft  on  the  place  of  shame;  and,  half  crazed 
betwixt  alarm  and  curiosity,  would  go,  knocking  from  door  to 
door,  summoning  all  the  people  to  behold  the  ghost  —  as  he 
needs  must  think  it  —  of  some  defunct  transgressor.  A  dusky 
tumult  would  flap  its  wings  from  one  house  to  another.  Then  — 
the  morning  light  still  waxing  stronger  —  old  patriarchs  would 
rise  up  in  great  haste,  each  in  his  flannel  gown,  and  matronly 
dames,  without  pausing  to  put  off  their  night-gear.  The  whole 
tribe  of  decorous  personages,  who  had  never  heretofore  been  seen 
with  a  single  hair  of  their  heads  awry,  would  start  into  public 
view,  with  the  disorder  of  a  nightmare  in  their  aspects.  Old 
Governor  Bellingham  would  come  grimly  forth,  with  Ins  King 
James's  ruff  fastened  askew;  and  Mistress  Hibbins,  with  some 
twigs  of  the  forest  clinging  to  her  skirts,  and  looking  sourer 
than  ever,  as  having  hardly  got  a  wink  of  sleep  after  her  night 
ride;  and  good  Father  Wilson,  too,  after  spending  half  the 
night  at  a  death-bed,  and  liking  ill  to  be  disturbed,  thus  early, 
out  of  his  dreams  about  the  glorified  saints.  Hither,  likewise, 
would  come  the  elders  and  deacons  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  church, 
and  the  young  virgins  who  so  idolized  their  minister,  and  had 
made  a  shrine  for  him  in  their  white  bosoms;  which  now,  by 
the  by,  in  their  hurry  and  confusion,  they  would  scantly  have 
given  themselves  time  to  cover  with  their  kerchiefs.  All  people, 
in  a  word,  would  come  stumbling  over  their  thresholds,  and 
turning  up  their  amazed  and  horror-stricken  visages  around  the 
scaffold.  Whom  would  they  discern  there,  with  the  red  eastern 
light  upon  his  brow  ?  Whom,  but  the  Eeverend  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale,  half  frozen  to  death,  overwhelmed  with  shame,  and  stand- 
ing where  Hester  Prynne  had  stood ! 


THE    MINISTER'S   VIGIL.  183 

Carried  away  by  the  grotesque  horror  of  this  picture,  the  min- 
ister, unawares,  and  to  his  own  infinite  alarm,  burst  into  a  great 
peal  of  laughter.  It  was  immediately  responded  to  by  a  light, 
airy,  childish  laugh,  in  which,  with  a  thrill  of  the  heart,  —  but 
he  knew  not  whether  of  exquisite  pain,  or  pleasure  as  acute,  —  he 
recognized  the  tones  of  little  Pearl. 

"  Pearl !  Little  Pearl !  "  cried  he  after  a  moment's  pause ; 
then,  suppressing  his  voice,  — "  Hester  !  Hester  Prymie  !  Are 
you  there  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  Hester  Prynne  ! **  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise; and  the  minister  heard  her  footsteps  approaching  from 
the  sidewalk,  along  which  she  had  been  passing.  "  It  is  I,  and 
my  little  Pearl." 

"  Whence  come  you,  Hester  ?  "  asked  the  minister.  "  What 
sent  you  hither?" 

w  I  have  been  watching  at  a  death-bed,"  answered  Hester 
Prynne; — "at  Governor  Winthrop's  death-bed,  and  have  taken  his 
measure  for  a  robe,  and  am  now  going  homeward  to  my  dwelling." 

"Come  up  hither,  Hester,  thou  and  little  Pearl,"  said  the 
Tteverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  Ye  have  both  been  here  before, 
but  I  was  not  with  you.  Come  up  hither  once  again,  and  we 
will  stand  all  three  together ! " 

She  silently  ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  on  the  platform, 
holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand.  The  minister  felt  for  the 
child's  other  hand,  and  took  it.  The  moment  that  he  did  so, 
there  came  what  seemed  a  tumultuous  rush  of  new  life,  other 
life  than  his  own,  pouring  like  a  torrent  into  his  heart,  and 
hurrying  through  all  his  veins,  as  if  the  mother  and  the  child 
were  communicating  their  vital  warmth  to  his  half-torpid  sys- 
tem.    The  three  formed  an  electric  chain. 


184  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"  Minister !  "  whispered  little  Pearl. 

"What  wouldst  thou  say,  child?"  asked  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 

"  Wilt  thou  stand  here  with  mother  and  me,  to-morrow  noon- 
tide?" inquired  Pearl. 

"Nay;  not  so,  my  little  Pearl,"  answered  the  minister;  for, 
with  the  new  energy  of  the  moment,  all  the  dread  of  public  expos- 
ure, that  had  so  long  been  the  anguish  of  his  life,  had  returned 
upon  him;  and  he  was  already  trembling  at  the  conjunction 
in  which  —  with  a  strange  joy,  nevertheless  —  he  now  found 
himself.  "Not  so,  my  child.  I  shall,  indeed,  stand  with  thy 
mother  and  thee  one  other  day,  but  not  to-morrow." 

Pearl  laughed,  and  attempted  to  pull  away  her  hand.  But 
the  minister  held  it  fast. 

"  A  moment  longer,  my  child ! "  said  he. 

"  But  wilt  thou  promise,"  asked  Pearl,  "  to  take  my  hand, 
and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide?" 

"  Not  then,  Pearl,"  said  the  minister,  "  but  another  time." 

"And  what  other  time?"  persisted  the  child. 

"At  the  great  judgment  day,"  whispered  the  minister,  —  and, 
strangely  enough,  the  sense  that  he  was  a  professional  teacher 
of  the  truth  impelled  him  to  answer  the  child  so.  "  Then,  and 
there,  before  the  judgment-seat,  thy  mother,  and  thou,  and  I 
must  stand  together.  But  the  daylight  of  this  world  shall  not 
see  our  meeting  !  " 

Pearl  laughed  again. 

But,  before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  done  speaking,  a  light  gleamed 
far  and  wide  over  all  the  muffled  sky.  It  was  doubtless  caused 
by  one  of  those  meteors,  which  the  night-watcher  may  so  often 
observe  burning  out  to  waste,  in  the  vacant  regions  of  the  atmos- 
phere.    So  powerful  was  its   radiance,   that  it  thoroughly  illu- 


THE    MINISTER'S   VIGIL.  187 

minated  the  dense  medium  of  cloud  betwixt  the  sky  and  earth. 
The  great  vault  brightened,  like  the  dome  of  an  immense  lamp. 
It  showed  the  familiar  scene  of  the  street,  with  the  distinctness 
of  mid-day,  but  also  with  the  awfulness  that  is  always  imparted 
to  familiar  objects  by  an  unaccustomed  light.  The  wooden 
houses,  with  their  jutting  stories  and  quaint  gable-peaks;  the 
doorsteps  and  thresholds,  with  the  early  grass  springing  up 
about  them ;  the  garden-plots,  black  with  freshly  turned  earth ; 
the  wheel-track,  little  worn,  and,  even  in  the  market-place,  mar- 
gined with  green  on  either  side ;  —  all  were  visible,  but  with 
a  singularity  of  aspect  that  seemed  to  give  another  moral  inter- 
pretation to  the  things  of  this  world  than  they  had  ever  borne 
before.  And  there  stood  the  minister,  with  his  hand  over  his 
heart ;  and  Hester  Prynne,  with  the  embroidered  letter  glim- 
mering on  her  bosom;  and  little  Pearl,  herself  a  symbol,  and 
the  connecting  link  between  those  two.  They  stood  in  the  noon 
of  that  strange  and  solemn  splendor,  as  if  it  were  the  light  that 
is  to  reveal  all  secrets,  and  the  daybreak  that  shall  unite  all 
who  belong  to  one  another. 

There  was  witchcraft  in  little  Pearl's  eyes,  and  her  face,  as 
she  glanced  upward  at  the  minister,  wore  that  naughty  smile 
which  made  its  expression  frequently  so  elvish.  She  withdrew 
her  hand  from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's,  and  pointed  across  the  street. 
But  he  clasped  both  his  hands  over  his  breast,  and  cast  his 
eyes  towards  the  zenith. 

Nothing  was  more  common,  in  those  days,  than  to  interpret 
all  meteoric  appearances,  and  other  natural  phenomena,  that 
occurred  with  less  regularity  than  the  rise  and  set  of  sun  and 
moon,  as  so  many  revelations  from  a  supernatural  source.  Thus, 
a  blazing  spear,  a  sword  of  flame,  a  bow,  or  a  sheaf  of  arrows, 


188  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

seen  in  the  midnight  sky,  prefigured  Indian  warfare.  Pestilence 
was  known  to  have  been  foreboded  by  a  shower  of  crimson 
light.  We  doubt  whether  any  marked  event,  for  good  or  evil, 
ever  befell  New  England,  from  its  settlement  down  to  Revolu- 
tionary times,  of  which  the  inhabitants  had  not  been  previously 
warned  by  some  spectacle  of  this  nature.  Not  seldom,  it  had 
been  seen  by  multitudes.  Oftener,  however,  its  credibility  rested 
on  the  faith  of  some  lonely  eye-witness,  who  beheld  the  wonder 
through  the  colored,  magnifying,  and  distorting  medium  of  his 
imagination,  and  shaped  it  more  distinctly  in  his  after-thought. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  majestic  idea,  that  the  destiny  of  nations 
should  be  revealed,  in  these  awful  hieroglyphics,  on  the  cope  of 
heaven.  A  scroll  so  wide  might  not  be  deemed  too  expansive 
for  Providence  to  write  a  people's  doom  upon.  The  belief  was 
a  favorite  one  with  our  forefathers,  as  betokening  that  their 
infant  commonwealth  was  under  a  celestial  guardianship  of  pecul- 
iar intimacy  and  strictness.  But  what  shall  we  say,  when  an 
individual  discovers  a  revelation  addressed  to  himself  alone,  on 
the  same  vast  sheet  of  record  !  In  such  a  case,  it  could  only 
be  the  symptom  of  a  highly  disordered  mental  state,  when  a 
man,  rendered  morbidly  self-contemplative  by  long,  intense,  and 
secret  pain,  had  extended  his  egotism  over  the  whole  expanse  of 
nature,  until  the  firmament  itself  should  appear  no  more  than 
a  fitting  page  for  his  soul's  history  and  fate ! 

We  impute  it,  therefore,  solely  to  the  disease  in  his  own  eye 
and  heart,  that  the  minister,  looking  upward  to  the  zenith, 
beheld  there  the  appearance  of  an  immense  letter,  —  the  letter 
A,  —  marked  out  in  lines  of  dull  red  light.  Not  but  the 
meteor  may  have  shown  itself  at  that  point,  burning  duskily 
through  a  veil  of  cloud ;   but  with  no  such  shape  as  his  guilty 


THE   MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  189 

imagination  gave  it ;  or,  at  least,  with  so  little  definiteness,  that 
another's  guilt  might  have  seen  another  symbol  in  it. 

There  was  a  singular  circumstance  that  characterized  Mr. 
Dimmesdale's  psychological  state,  at  this  moment.  All  the  time 
that  he  gazed  upward  to  the  zenith,  he  was,  nevertheless,  per- 
fectly aware  that  little  Pearl  was  pointing  her  finger  towards 
old  Roger  Chillingworth,  who  stood  at  no  great  distance  from 
the  scaffold.  The  minister  appeared  to  see  him,  with  the  same 
glance  that  discerned  the  miraculous  letter.  To  his  features,  as 
to  all  other  objects,  the  meteoric  light  imparted  a  new  expres- 
sion ;  or  it  might  well  be  that  the  physician  was  not  careful 
then,  as  at  all  other  times,  to  hide  the  malevolence  with  which 
he  looked  upon  his  victim.  Certainly,  if  the  meteor  kindled  up 
the  sky,  and  disclosed  the  earth,  with  an  awfulness  that  admon- 
ished Hester  Prynne  and  the  clergyman  of  the  day  of  judgment, 
then  might  Eoger  Chillingworth  have  passed  with  them  for  the 
arch-fiend,  standing  there  with  a  smile  and  scowl,  to  claim  his 
own.  So  vivid  was  the  expression,  or  so  intense  the  minister's 
perception  of  it,  that  it  seemed  still  to  remain  painted  on  the 
darkness,  after  the  meteor  had  vanished,  with  an  effect  as  if 
the  street  and  all  things  else  were  at  once  annihilated. 

"  Who  is  that  man,  Hester  ? "  gasped  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  over- 
come with  terror.  "  I  shiver  at  him !  Dost  thou  know  the 
man  ?     I  hate  him,  Hester  !  " 

She  remembered  her  oath,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  tell  thee,  my  soul  shivers  at  him  !  "  muttered  the  minister 
again.  "Who  is  he?  Who  is  he?  Canst  thou  do  nothing 
for  me  ?     I  have  a  nameless  horror  of  the  man  ! " 

"Minister,"  said  little  Pearl,  "I  can  tell  thee  who  he  is!" 

"  Quickly,  then,  child  !  "  said   the    minister,  bending   his   ear 


190  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

close  to  her  lips.  "  Quickly  !  —  and  as  low  as  thou  canst 
whisper." 

Pearl  mumbled  something  into  his  ear,  that  sounded,  indeed, 
like  human  language,  but  was  only  such  gibberish  as  children 
may  be  heard  amusing  themselves  with,  by  the  hour  together. 
At  all  events,  if  it  involved  any  secret  information  in  regard  to 
old  Eoger  Chillingworth,  it  was  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the 
erudite  clergyman,  and  did  but  increase  the  bewilderment  of  his 
mind.     The  elvish  child  then  laughed  aloud. 

"  Dost  thou  mock  me  now  ?  "  said  the  minister. 

"  Thou  wast  not  bold  !  —  thou  wast  not  true  !  "  —  answered 
the  child.  "  Thou  wouldst  not  promise  to  take  my  hand,  and 
mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  !  " 

"  Worthy  Sir,"  answered  the  physician,  who  had  now  advanced 
to  the  foot  of  the  platform.  "  Pious  Master  Dimmesdale,  can 
this  be  you  ?  Well,  well,  indeed  !  We  men  of  study,  whose 
heads  are  in  our  books,  have  need  to  be  straitly  looked  after ! 
We  dream  in  our  waking  moments,  and  walk  in  our  sleep- 
Come,  good  Sir,  and  my  dear  friend,  I  pray  you,  let  me  lead 
you  home  !  " 

"  How  knewest  thou  that  I  was  here  ?  "  asked  the  minister, 
fearfully. 

"  Verily,  and  in  good  faith,"  answered  Eoger  Chillingworth, 
"  I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  I  had  spent  the  better  part 
of  the  night  at  the  bedside  of  the  worshipful  Governor  Winthrop, 
doing  what  my  poor  skill  might  to  give  him  ease.  He  going 
home  to  a  better  world,  I,  likewise,  was  on  my  way  homeward, 
when  this  strange  light  shone  out.  Come  with  me,  I  beseech 
you,  Eeverend  Sir ;  else  you  will  be  poorly  able  to  do  Sabbath 
duty  to-morrow.     Aha !    see   now,  how   they  trouble   the    brain, 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  191 

—  these  books  !  —  these  books  !  You  should  study  less,  good 
Sir,  and  take  a  little  pastime ;  or  these  night- whimseys  will 
grow  upon  you." 

"  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 

With  a  chill  despondency,  like  one  awaking,  all  nerveless, 
from  an  ugly  dream,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  physician,  and 
was  led  away. 

The  next  day,  however,  being  the  Sabbath,  he  preached  a 
discourse  which  was  held  to  be  the  richest  and  most  powerful, 
and  the  most  replete  with  heavenly  influences,  that  had  ever 
proceeded  from  his  lips.  Souls,  it  is  said  more  souls  than  one, 
were  brought  to  the  truth  by  the  efficacy  of  that  sermon,  and 
vowed  within  themselves  to  cherish  a  holy  gratitude  towards 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  throughout  the  long  hereafter.  But,  as  he 
came  down  the  pulpit  steps,  the  gray-bearded  sexton  met  him, 
holding  up  a  black  glove,  which  the  minister  recognized  as  his 
own. 

"  It  was  found,"  said  the  sexton,  "  this  morning,  on  the 
scaffold  where  evil-doers  are  set  up  to  public  shame.  Satan 
dropped  it  there,  I  take  it,  intending  a  scurrilous  jest  against 
your  reverence.  But,  indeed,  he  was  blind  and  foolish,  as  he 
ever  and  always  is.     A  pure  hand  needs  no  glove  to  cover  it ! " 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  minister,  gravely, 
but  startled  at  heart ;  for,  so  confused  was  his  remembrance, 
that  he  had  almost  brought  himself  to  look  at  the  events  of 
the  past  night  as  visionary.  "  Yes,  it  seems  to  be  my  glove, 
indeed  !  " 

"  And  since  Satan  saw  fit  to  steal  it,  your  reverence  must 
needs  handle  him  without  gloves,  henceforward,"  remarked  the 
old    sexton,   grimly   smiling.      "  But    did    your    reverence    hear 


192 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER 


of  the  portent  that  was  seen  last  night  ?  —  a  great  red  letter  in 
the  sky,  —  the  letter  A,  which  we  interpret  to  stand  for  Angel. 
Tor,  as  our  good  Governor  Winthrop  was  made  an  angel  this 
past  night,  it  was  doubtless  held  fit  that  there  should  be  some 
notice  thereof !  " 

"No/'  answered  the  minister,  "I  had  not  heard  of  it." 


y/^tou^iAaM^.'-.h  HUL.gjgj  ® 


XIII. 


ANOTHER   VIEW   OP   HESTER. 


'N  her  late  singular  interview  with  Mr.  Dimmes- 
$t  dale,  Hester  Prynne  was  shocked  at  the  con- 
dition to  which  she  found  the  clergyman  reduced. 
His  nerve  seemed  absolutely  destroyed.  His 
moral  force  was  abased  into  more  than  childish 
weakness.  It  grovelled  helpless  on  the  ground, 
even  while  his  intellectual  faculties  retained  their  pristine  strength, 
or  had  perhaps  acquired  a  morbid  energy,  which  disease  only 
could  have  given  them.  With  her  knowledge  of  a  train  of 
circumstances  hidden  from  all  others,  she  could  readily  infer 
that,  besides  the  legitimate  action  of  his  own  conscience,  a 
terrible  machinery  had  been  brought  to  bear,  and  was  still 
operating,  on  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  well-being  and  repose.  Know- 
ing what  this  poor,  fallen  man  had  once  been,  her  whole  soul 
was  moved  by  the  shuddering  terror  with  which  he  had  appealed 
to  her,  —  the  outcast  woman,  —  for  support  against  his  instinc- 
tively discovered  enemy.  She  decided,  moreover,  that  he  had  a 
right  to  her  utmost  aid.    Little  accustomed,  in  her  long  seclusion 


194  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

from  society,  to  measure  her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  by  any 
standard  external  to  herself,  Hester  saw  —  or  seemed  to  see  — 
that  there  lay  a  responsibility  upon  her,  in  reference  to  the 
clergyman,  which  she  owed  to  no  other,  nor  to  the  whole  world 
besides.  The  links  that  united  her  to  the  rest  of  human  kind 
—  links  of  flowers,  or  silk,  or  gold,  or  whatever  the  material  — 
had  all  been  broken.  Here  was  the  iron  link  of  mutual  crime, 
which  neither  he  nor  she  could  break.  Like  all  other  ties,  it 
brought  along  with  it  its  obligations. 

Hester  Prynne  did  not  now  occupy  precisely  the  same  posi- 
tion in  which  we  beheld  her  during  the  earlier  periods  of  her 
ignominy.  Years  had  come  and  gone.  Pearl  was  now  seven 
years  old.  Her  mother,  with  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast, 
glittering  in  its  fantastic  embroidery,  had  long  been  a  familiar 
object  to  the  towns-people.  As  is  apt  to  be  the  case  when  a 
person  stands  out  in  any  prominence  before  the  community,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  interferes  neither  with  public  nor  individual 
interests  and  convenience,  a  species  of  general  regard  had  ulti- 
mately grown  up  in  reference  to  Hester  Prynne.  It  is  to  the 
credit  of  human  nature,  that,  except  where  its  selfishness  is 
brought  into  play,  it  loves  more  readily  than  it  hates.  Hatred, 
by  a  gradual  and  quiet  process,  will  even  be  transformed  to  love, 
unless  the  change  be  impeded  by  a  continually  new  irritation 
of  the  original  feeling  of  hostility.  In  this  matter  of  Hester 
Prynne,  there  was  neither  irritation  nor  irksomeness.  She  never 
battled  with  the  public,  but  submitted,  uncomplainingly,  to  its 
worst  usage;  she  made  no  claim  upon  it,  in  requital  for  what 
she  suffered;  she  did  not  weigh  upon  its  sympathies.  Then, 
also,  the  blameless  purity  of  her  life  during  all  these  years  in 
which  she  had  been  set  apart  to   infamy,  was  reckoned  largely 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OE    HESTER. 


195 


in  her  favor.  With  nothing  now  to  lose,  in  the  sight  of  man- 
kind, and  with  no  hope,  and  seemingly  no  wish,  of  gaining  any- 
thing, it  could  only  be  a  genuine  regard  for  virtue  that  had 
brought  back  the  poor  wanderer  to  its  paths. 

It  was  perceived,  too,  that  while  Hester  never  put  forward 
even  the  humblest  title  to  share  in  the  world's  privileges,  — 
further   than  to   breathe  the  common   air,  and  earn  daily  bread 


for  little  Pearl  and  herself  by  the  faithful  labor  of  her  hands,  — 
she  was  quick  to  acknowledge  her  sisterhood  with  the  race  of 
man,  whenever  benefits  were  to  be  conferred.  None  so  ready 
as  she  to  give  of  her  little  substance  to  every  demand  of  pov- 
erty; even  though  the  bitter-hearted  pauper  threw  back  a  gibe 
in  requital  of  the  food  brought  regularly  to  his  door,  or  the 
garments  wrought  for  him  by  the  fingers  that  could  have   em- 


196  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

broidered  a  monarch's  robe.  None  so  self-devoted  as  Hester, 
when  pestilence  stalked  through  the  town.  In  all  seasons  of 
calamity,  indeed,  whether  general  or  of  individuals,  the  outcast 
of  society  at  once  found  her  place.  She  came,  not  as  a  guest, 
but  as  a  rightful  inmate,  into  the  household  that  was  darkened 
by  trouble;  as  if  its  gloomy  twilight  were  a  medium  in  which 
she  was  entitled  to  hold  intercourse  with  her  fellow-creatures. 
There  glimmered  the  embroidered  letter,  with  comfort  in  its 
unearthly  ray.  Elsewhere  the  token  of  sin,  it  was  the  taper 
of  the  sick-chamber.  It  had  even  thrown  its  gleam,  in  the  suf- 
ferer's hard  extremity,  across  the  verge  of  time.  It  had  shown 
him  where  to  set  his  foot,  while  the  light  of  earth  was  fast 
becoming  dim,  and  ere  the  light  of  futurity  could  reach  him. 
In  such  emergencies,  Hester's  nature  showed  itself  warm  and 
rich;  a  well-spring  of  human  tenderness,  unfailing  to  every  real 
demand,  and  inexhaustible  by  the  largest.  Her  breast,  with  its 
badge  of  shame,  was  but  the  softer  pillow  for  the  head  that 
needed  one.  She  was  self-ordained  a  Sister  of  Mercy;  or,  we 
may  rather  say,  the  world's  heavy  hand  had  so  ordained  her, 
when  neither  the  world  nor  she  looked  forward  to  this  result. 
The  letter  was  the  symbol  of  her  calling.  Such  helpfulness  was 
found  in  her,  —  so  much  power  to  do,  and  power  to  sympa- 
thize,—  that  many  people  refused  to  interpret  the  scarlet  A  by 
its  original  signification.  They  said  that  it  meant  Able;  so 
strong  was  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  woman's  strength. 

It  was  only  the  darkened  house  that  could  contain  her.  When 
sunshine  came  again,  she  was  not  there.  Her  shadow  had  faded 
across  the  threshold.  The  helpful  inmate  had  departed,  without 
one  backward  glance  to  gather  up  the  meed  of  gratitude,  if  any 
were  in  the  hearts   of  those  whom  she  had  served  so  zealously. 


ANOTHER   VIEW    OE    HESTER.  197 

Meeting  them  in  the  street,  she  never  raised  her  head  to  receive 
their  greeting.  If  they  were  resolute  to  accost  her,  she  laid  her 
finger  on  the  scarlet  letter,  and  passed  on.  This  might  be  pride, 
but  was  so  like  humility,  that  it  produced  all  the  softening  influ- 
ence of  the  latter  quality  on  the  public  mind.  The  public  is 
despotic  in  its  temper;  it  is  capable  of  denying  common  justice, 
when  too  strenuously  demanded  as  a  right;  but  quite  as  fre- 
quently it  awards  more  than  justice,  when  the  appeal  is  made, 
as  despots  love  to  have  it  made,  entirely  to  its  generosity.  Inter- 
preting Hester  Prynne's  deportment  as  an  appeal  of  this  nature, 
society  was  inclined  to  show  its  former  victim  a  more  benign 
countenance  than  she  cared  to  be  favored  with,  or,  perchance, 
than  she  deserved. 

The  rulers,  and  the  wise  and  learned  men  of  the  community, 
were  longer  in  acknowledging  the  influence  of  Hester's  good 
qualities  than  the  people.  The  prejudices  which  they  shared  in 
common  with  the  latter  were  fortified  in  themselves  by  an  iron 
framework  of  reasoning,  that  made  it  a  far  tougher  labor  to 
expel  them.  Day  by  day,  nevertheless,  their  sour  and  rigid 
wrinkles  were  relaxing  into  something  which,  in  the  due  course 
of  years,  might  grow  to  be  an  expression  of  almost  benevolence. 
Thus  it  was  with  the  men  of  rank,  on  whom  their  eminent  posi- 
tion imposed  the  guardianship  of  the  public  morals.  Individuals 
in  private  life,  meanwhile,  had  quite  forgiven  Hester  Prynne  for 
her  frailty;  nay,  more,  they  had  begun  to  look  upon  the  scarlet 
letter  as  the  token,  not  of  that  one  sin,  for  which  she  had  borne 
so  long  and  dreary  a  penance,  but  of  her  many  good  deeds  since. 
"Do  you  see  that  woman  with  the  embroidered  badge?"  they 
would  say  to  strangers.  "It  is  our  Hester,  —  the  town's  own 
Hester,  who  is  so  kind  to  the  poor,  so  helpful  to  the  sick,  so 


198  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

comfortable  to  the  afflicted ! "  Then,  it  is  true,  the  propensity 
of  human  nature  to  tell  the  very  worst  of  itself,  when  embodied 
in  the  person  of  another,  would  constrain  them  to  whisper  the 
black  scandal  of  bygone  years.  It  was  none  the  less  a  fact, 
however,  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  very  men  who  spoke  thus,  the 
scarlet  letter  had  the  effect  of  the  cross  on  a  nun's  bosom.  It 
imparted  to  the  wearer  a  kind  of  sacredness,  which  enabled  her 
to  walk  securely  amid  all  peril.  Had  she  fallen  among  thieves, 
it  would  have  kept  her  safe.  It  was  reported,  and  believed  by 
many,  that  an  Indian  had  drawn  his  arrow  against  the  badge, 
and  that  the  missile  struck  it,  but  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 
The  effect  of  the  symbol  —  or,  rather,  of  the  position  in  respect 
to  society  that  was  indicated  by  it  —  on  the  mind  of  Hester 
Prynne  herself,  was  powerful  and  peculiar.  All  the  light  and 
graceful  foliage  of  her  character  had  been  withered  up  by  this 
red-hot  brand,  and  had  long  ago  fallen  away,  leaving  a  bare  and 
harsh  outline,  which  might  have  been  repulsive,  had  she  pos- 
sessed friends  or  companions  to  be  repelled  by  it.  Even  the 
attractiveness  of  her  person  had  undergone  a  similar  change.  It 
might  be  partly  owing  to  the  studied  austerity  of  her  dress,  and 
partly  to  the  lack  of  demonstration  in  her  manners.  It  was 
a  sad  transformation,  too,  that  her  rich  and  luxuriant  hair 
had  either  been  cut  off,  or  was  so  completely  hidden  by  a  cap, 
that  not  a  shining  lock  of  it  ever  once  gushed  into  the  sun- 
shine. It  was  due  in  part  to  all  these  causes,  but  still  more 
to  something  else,  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  longer  anything 
in  Hester's  face  for  Love  to  dwell  upon;  nothing  in  Hester's 
form,  though  majestic  and  statue-like,  that  Passion  would  ever 
dream  of  clasping  in  its  embrace;  nothing  in  Hester's  bosom, 
to  make  it  ever  again  the  pillow  of  Affection.     Some  attribute 


ANOTHER   VIEW    OF    HESTER.  199 

had  departed  from  her,  the  permanence  of  which  had  been  essen- 
tial to  keep  her  a  woman.  Such  is  frequently  the  fate,  and 
such  the  stern  development,  of  the  feminine  character  and  per- 
son, when  the  woman  has  encountered,  and  lived  through,  an 
experience  of  peculiar  severity.  If  she  be  all  tenderness,  she 
will  die.  If  she  survive,  the  tenderness  will  either  be  crushed 
out  of  her,  or  —  and  the  outward  semblance  is  the  same  — 
crushed  so  deeply  into  her  heart  that  it  can  never  show  itself 
more.  The  latter  is  perhaps  the  truest  theory.  She  who  has 
once  been  woman,  and  ceased  to  be  so,  might  at  any  moment 
become  a  woman  again  if  there  were  only  the  magic  touch  to 
effect  the  transfiguration.  We  shall  see  whether  Hester  Prynne 
were  ever  afterwards  so  touched,  and  so  transfigured. 

Much  of  the  marble  coldness  of  Hester's  impression  was  to 
be  attributed  to  the  circumstance,  that  her  life  had  turned,  in 
a  great  measure,  from  passion  and  feeling,  to  thought.  Stand- 
ing alone  in  the  world, — alone,  as  to  any  dependence  on  society, 
and  with  little  Pearl  to  be  guided  and  protected,  —  alone,  and 
hopeless  of  retrieving  her  position,  even  had  she  not  scorned  to 
consider  it  desirable, —  she  cast  away  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
chain.  The  world's  law  was  no  law  for  her  mind.  It  was  an 
age  in  which  the  human  intellect,  newly  emancipated,  had  taken 
a  more  active  and  a  wider  range  than  for  many  centuries  before. 
Men  of  the  sword  had  overthrown  nobles  and  kings.  Men 
bolder  than  these  had  overthrown  and  rearranged  —  not  actually, 
but  within  the  sphere  of  theory,  which  was  their  most  real  abode 
—  the  whole  system  of  ancient  prejudice,  wherewith  was  linked 
much  of  ancient  principle.  Hester  Prynne  imbibed  this  spirit. 
She  assumed  a  freedom  of  speculation,  then  common  enough  on 
the  other   side   of  the  Atlantic,  but  which   our   forefathers,  had 


200         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

they  known  it,  would  have  held  to  be  a  deadlier  crime  than 
that  stigmatized  by  the  scarlet  letter.  In  her  lonesome  cottage, 
by  the  sea-shore,  thoughts  visited  her,  such  as  dared  to  enter  no 
other  dwelling  in  New  England;  shadowy  guests,  that  would 
have  been  as  perilous  as  demons  to  their  entertainer,  could  they 
have  been  seen  so  much  as  knocking  at  her  door. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  persons  who  speculate  the  most  boldly 
often  conform  with  the  most  perfect  quietude  to  the  external 
regulations  of  society.  The  thought  suffices  them,  without 
investing  itself  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of  action.  So  it  seemed 
to  be  with  Hester.  Yet,  had  little  Pearl  never  come  to  her 
from  the  spiritual  world,  it  might  have  been  far  otherwise. 
Then,  she  might  have  come  down  to  us  in  history,  hand  in 
hand  with  Ann  Hutchinson,  as  the  foundress  of  a  religious 
sect.  She  might,  in  one  of  her  phases,  have  been  a  prophetess. 
She  might,  and  not  improbably  would,  have  suffered  death 
from  the  stern  tribunals  of  the  period,  for  attempting  to  under- 
mine the  foundations  of  the  Puritan  establishment.  But,  in  the 
education  of  her  child,  the  mother's  enthusiasm  of  thought  had 
something  to  wreak  itself  upon.  Providence,  in  the  person  of 
this  little  girl,  had  assigned  to  Hester's  charge  the  germ  and 
blossom  of  womanhood,  to  be  cherished  and  developed  amid  a 
host  of  difficulties.  Everything  was  against  her.  The  world 
was  hostile.  The  child's  own  nature  had  something  wrong  in 
it,  which  continually  betokened  that  she  had  been  born  amiss,  — 
the  effluence  of  her  mother's  lawless  passion,  —  and  often  impelled 
Hester  to  ask,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  whether  it  were  for  ill 
or  good  that  the  poor  little  creature  had  been  born  at  all. 

Indeed,  the  same  dark  question  often  rose  into  her  mind, 
with  reference  to  the  whole  race  of  womanhood.     Was  existence 


ANOTHER   VIEW   OF   HESTER.  201 

worth  accepting,  even  to  the  happiest  among  them?  As  con- 
cerned her  own  individual  existence,  she  had  long  ago  decided 
in  the  negative,  and  dismissed  the  point  as  settled.  A  tendency 
to  speculation,  though  it  may  keep  woman  quiet,  as  it  does 
man,  yet  makes  her  sad.  She  discerns,  it  may  be,  such  a  hope- 
less task  before  her.  As  a  first  step,  the  whole  system  of  society 
is  to  be  torn  down,  and  built  up  anew.  Then,  the  very  nature 
of  the  opposite  sex,  or  its  long  hereditary  habit,  which  has 
become  like  nature,  is  to  be  essentially  modified,  before  woman 
can  be  allowed  to  assume  what  seems  a  fair  and  suitable  posi- 
tion. Finally,  all  other  difficulties  being  obviated,  woman  cannot 
take  advantage  of  these  preliminary  reforms,  until  she  herself 
shall  have  undergone  a  still  mightier  change ;  in  which,  perhaps, 
the  ethereal  essence,  wherein  she  has  her  truest  life,  will  be 
found  to  have  evaporated.  A  woman  never  overcomes  these 
problems  by  any  exercise  of  thought.  They  are  not  to  be 
solved,  or  only  in  one  way.  If  her  heart  chance  to  come  upper- 
most, they  vanish.  Thus,  Hester  Prynne,  whose  heart  had  lost 
its  regular  and  healthy  throb,  wandered  without  a  clew  in  the 
dark  labyrinth  of  mind ;  now  turned  aside  by  an  insurmountable 
precipice ;  now  starting  back  from  a  deep  chasm.  There  was 
wild  and  ghastly  scenery  all  around  her,  and  a  home  and  com- 
fort nowhere.  At  times,  a  fearful  doubt  strove  to  possess  her 
soul,  whether  it  were  not  better  to  send  Pearl  at  once  to  heaven, 
and  go  herself  to  such  futurity  as  Eternal  Justice  should  provide. 

The  scarlet  letter  had  not  done  its  office. 

Now,  however,  her  interview  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  on  the  night  of  his  vigil,  had  given  her  a  new  theme  of 
reflection,  and  held  up  to  her  an  object  that  appeared  worthy 
of  any  exertion  and  sacrifice   for   its  attainment.     She  had  wit- 


202  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

nessed  the  intense  misery  beneath  which  the  minister  struggled, 
or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  had  ceased  to  struggle.  She  saw 
that  he  stood  on  the  verge  of  lunacy,  if  he  had  not  already 
stepped  across  it.  It  was  impossible  to  doubt,  that,  whatever 
painful  efficacy  there  might  be  in  the  secret  sting  of  remorse,  a 
deadlier  venom  had  been  infused  into  it  by  the  hand  that  prof- 
fered relief.  A  secret  enemy  had  been  continually  by  his  side, 
under  the  semblance  of  a  friend  and  helper,  and  had  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunities  thus  afforded  for  tampering  with  the 
delicate  springs  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  nature.  Hester  could  not 
but  ask  herself,  whether  there  had  not  originally  been  a  defect 
of  truth,  courage,  and  loyalty,  on  her  own  part,  in  allowing  the 
minister  to  be  thrown  into  a  position  where  so  much  evil  was 
to  be  foreboded,  and  nothing  auspicious  to  be  hoped.  Her  only 
justification  lay  in  the  fact,  that  she  had  been  able  to  discern 
no  method  of  rescuing  him  from  a  blacker  ruin  than  had  over- 
whelmed herself,  except  by  acquiescing  in  Roger  Chillingworth's 
scheme  of  disguise.  Under  that  impulse,  she  had  made  her 
choice,  and  had  chosen,  as  it  now  appeared,  the  more  wretched 
alternative  of  the  two.  She  determined  to  redeem  her  error,  so 
far  as  it  might  yet  be  possible.  Strengthened  by  years  of  hard 
and  solemn  trial,  she  felt  herself  no  longer  so  inadequate  to 
cope  with  Roger  Chillingworth  as  on  that  night,  abased  by  sin, 
and  half  maddened  by  the  ignominy  that  was  still  new,  when 
they  had  talked  together  in  the  prison-chamber.  She  had  climbed 
her  way,  since  then,  to  a  higher  point.  The  old  man,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  brought  himself  nearer  to  her  level,  or  perhaps 
below  it,  by  the  revenge  which  he  had  stooped  for. 

In  fine,  Hester  Prynne  resolved  to  meet  her  former  husband, 
and  do  what  might  be  in  her  power  for  the  rescue  of  the  victim 


ANOTHER   VIEW    OE    HESTER. 


203 


on  whom  he  had  so  evidently  set  his  gripe.  The  occasion  was 
not  long  to  seek.  One  afternoon,  walking  with  Pearl  in  a 
retired  part  of  the  peninsula,  she  beheld  the  old  physician,  with 
a  basket  on  one  arm,  and  a  staff  in  the  other  hand,  stooping 
along  the  ground,  in  quest  of  roots  and  herbs  to  concoct  his 
medicines  withal. 


XIV. 


HESTER    AND    THE    PHYSICIAN. 


[ESTER  bade  little  Pearl  run  down  to  the 
margin  of  the  water,  and  play  with  the  shells 
and  tangled  sea-weed,  until  she  should  have 
talked  awhile  with  yonder  gatherer  of  herbs. 
So  the  child  flew  away  like  a  bird,  and, 
making  bare  her  small  white  feet,  went  pat- 
tering along  the  moist  margin  of  the  sea.  Here  and  there  she 
came  to  a  full  stop,  and  peeped  curiously  into  a  pool,  left  by 
the  retiring  tide  as  a  mirror  for  Pearl  to  see  her  face  in.  Forth 
peeped  at  her,  out  of  the  pool,  with  dark,  glistening  curls  around 
her  head,  and  an  elf-smile  in  her  eyes,  the  image  of  a  little 
maid,  whom  Pearl,  having  no  other  playmate,  invited  to  take 
her  hand,  and  run  a  race  with  her.  But  the  visionary  little 
maid,  on  her  part,  beckoned  likewise,  as  if  to  say,  —  "  This  is 
a  better  place  !  Come  thou  into  the  pool ! "  And  Pearl,  step- 
ping in,  mid-leg  deep,  beheld  her  own  white  feet  at  the  bottom; 
while,  out  of  a  still  lower  depth,  came  the  gleam  of  a  kind  of 
fragmentary  smile,  floating  to  and  fro  in  the  agitated  water. 


HESTER   AND    THE   PHYSICIAN.  205 

Meanwhile,  her  mother  had  accosted  the  physician. 

"  I  would  speak  a  word  with  you/'  said  she,  —  "a  word  that 
concerns  us  much.'" 

u  Aha !  and  is  it  Mistress  Hester  that  has  a  word  for  old 
Roger  Chillingworth  ? "  answered  he,  raising  himself  from  his 
stooping  posture.  "  With  all  my  heart !  Why,  Mistress,  I  hear 
good  tidings  of  you  on  all  hands !  No  longer  ago  than  yester- 
eve,  a  magistrate,  a  wise  and  godly  man,  was  discoursing  of 
your  affairs,  Mistress  Hester,  and  whispered  me  that  there  had 
been  question  concerning  you  in  the  council.  It  was  debated 
whether  or  no,  with  safety  to  the  common  weal,  yonder  scarlet 
letter  might  be  taken  off  your  bosom.  On  my  life,  Hester,  I 
made  my  entreaty  to  the  worshipful  magistrate  that  it  might 
be  done  forthwith  !  " 

"It  lies  not  in  the  pleasure  of  the  magistrates  to  take  off 
this  badge,"  calmly  replied  Hester.  "Were  I  worthy  to  be 
quit  of  it,  it  would  fall  away  of  its  own  nature,  or  be  trans- 
formed into  something  that  should  speak  a  different  purport." 

"Nay,  then,  wear  it,  if  it  suit  you  better/'  rejoined  he.  " A 
•woman  must  needs  follow  her  own  fancy,  touching  the  adorn- 
ment of  her  person.  The  letter  is  gayly  embroidered,  and  shows 
right  bravely  on  your  bosom ! " 

All  this  while,  Hester  had  been  looking  steadily  at  the  old 
man,  and  was  shocked,  as  well  as  wonder-smitten,  to  discern 
what  a  change  had  been  wrought  upon  him  within  the  past 
seven  years.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  had  grown  older;  for 
though  the  traces  of  advancing  life  were  visible,  he  bore  his  age 
well,  and  seemed  to  retain  a  wiry  vigor  and  alertness.  But 
the  former  aspect  of  an  intellectual  and  studious  man,  calm  and 
quiet,  which  was  what  she  best  remembered  in   him,   had  alto- 


206  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

gether  vanished,  and  been  succeeded  by  an  eager,  searching, 
almost  fierce,  yet  carefully  guarded  look.  It  seemed  to  be  his 
wish  and  purpose  to  mask  this  expression  with  a  smile;  but 
the  latter  played  him  false,  and  flickered  over  his  visage  so  deri- 
sively, that  the  spectator  could  see  his  blackness  all  the  better 
for  it.  Ever  and  anon,  too,  there  came  a  glare  of  red  light  out 
of  his  eyes ;  as  if  the  old  man's  soul  were  on  fire,  and  kept  on 
smouldering  duskily  within  his  breast,  until,  by  some  casual 
puff  of  passion,  it  Mras  blown  into  a  momentary  flame.  This 
he  repressed,  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  strove  to  look  as  if 
nothing  of  the  kind  had  happened. 

In  a  word,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  striking  evidence 
of  man's  faculty  of  transforming  himself  into  a  devil,  if  he  will 
only,  for  a  reasonable  space  of  time,  undertake  a  devil's  office. 
This  unhappy  person  had  effected  such  a  transformation,  by 
devoting  himself,  for  seven  years,  to  the  constant  analysis  of  a 
heart  full  of  torture,  and  deriving  his  enjoyment  thence,  and 
adding  fuel  to  those  fiery  tortures  which  he  analyzed  and  gloated 
over. 

The  scarlet  letter  burned  on  Hester  Prynne's  bosom.  Here 
was  another  ruin,  the  responsibility  of  which  came  partly  home 
to  her. 

**  What  see  you  in  my  face,"  asked  the  physician,  "  that  you 
look  at  it  so  earnestly  ?  M 

"  Something  that  would  make  me  weep,  if  there  were  any 
tears  bitter  enough  for  it,"  answered  she.  "  But  let  it  pass ! 
It  is  of  yonder  miserable  man  that  I  would  speak/' 

"And  what  of  him?"  cried  Roger  Chillingworth,  eagerly, 
as  if  he  loved  the  topic,  and  were  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
discuss  it  with  the  only  person  of  whom  he  could  make  a  con- 


HESTEK    AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  207 

fidant.  "Not  to  hide  the  truth,  Mistress  Hester,  my  thoughts 
happen  just  now  to  be  busy  with  the  gentleman.  So  speak 
freely;  and  I  will  make  answer." 

"When  we  last  spake  together,"  said  Hester,  "now  seven 
years  ago,  it  was  your  pleasure  to  extort  a  promise  of  secrecy, 
as  touching  the  former  relation  betwixt  yourself  and  me.  As 
the  life  and  good  fame  of  yonder  man  were  in  your  hands, 
there  seemed  no  choice  to  me,  save  to  be  silent,  in  accordance 
with  your  behest.  Yet  it  was  not  without  heavy  misgivings 
that  I  thus  bound  myself ;  for,  having  cast  off  all  duty  towards 
other  human  beings,  there  remained  a  duty  towards  him ;  and 
something  whispered  me  that  I  was  betraying  it,  in  pledging 
myself  to  keep  your  counsel.  Since  that  day,  no  man  is  so 
near  to  him  as  you.  You  tread  behind  his  every  footstep.  You 
are  beside  him,  sleeping  and  waking.  You  search  his  thoughts. 
You  burrow  and  rankle  in  his  heart !  Your  clutch  is  on  his 
life,  and  you  cause  him  to  die  daily  a  living  death ;  and  still 
he  knows  you  not.  In  permitting  this,  I  have  surely  acted  a 
false  part  by  the  only  man  to  whom  the  power  was  left  me  to 
be  true  !  " 

"What  choice  had  you?"  asked  Eoger  Chillingworth.  "My 
finger,  pointed  at  this  man,  would  have  hurled  him  from  his 
pulpit  into  a  dungeon,  —  thence,  peradventure,  to  the  gallows  ! " 

"  It  had  been  better  so !  "   said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  What  evil  have  I  done  the  man  ?  "  asked  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  again.  "I  tell  thee,  Hester  Prynne,  the  richest  fee  that 
ever  physician  earned  from  monarch  could  not  have  bought 
such  care  as  I  have  wasted  on  this  miserable  priest  !  But  for 
my  aid,  his  life  would  have  burned  away  in  torments,  within 
the  first  two  years  after  the  perpetration  of  his  crime  and  thine. 


208  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

For,  Hester,  his  spirit  lacked  the  strength  that  could  have  borne 
up,  as  thine  has,  beneath  a  burden  like  thy  scarlet  letter.  O, 
I  could  reveal  a  goodly  secret !  But  enough  !  What  art  can 
do,  I  have  exhausted  on  him.  That  he  now  breathes,  and 
creeps  about  on  earth,  is  owing  all  to  me  !  " 

"  Better  he  had  died  at  once  !  "   said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  Yea,  woman,  thou  sayest  truly  ! "  cried  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  letting  the  lurid  fire  of  his  heart  blaze  out  before  her 
eyes.  "  Better  had  he  died  at  once !  Never  did  mortal  suffer 
what  this  man  has  suffered.  And  all,  all,  in  the  sight  of  his 
worst  enemy !  He  has  been  conscious  of  me.  He  has  felt  an 
influence  dwelling  always  upon  him  like  a  curse.  He  knew,  by 
some  spiritual  sense,  —  for  the  Creator  never  made  another 
being  so  sensitive  as  this,  —  he  knew  that  no  friendly  hand  was 
pulling  at  his  heart-strings,  and  that  an  eye  was  looking  curi- 
ously into  him,  which  sought  only  evil,  and  found  it.  But  he 
knew  not  that  the  eye  and  hand  were  mine  !  With  the  super- 
stition common  to  his  brotherhood,  he  fancied  himself  given 
over  to  a  fiend,  to  be  tortured  with  frightful  dreams,  and 
desperate  thoughts,  the  sting  of  remorse,  and  despair  of  pardon ; 
as  a  foretaste  of  what  awaits  him  beyond  the  grave.  But  it 
was  the  constant  shadow  of  my  presence  !  —  the  closest  propin- 
quity of  the  man  whom  he  had  most  vilely  wronged !  —  and 
who  had  grown  to  exist  only  by  this  perpetual  poison  of  the 
direst  revenge  !  Yea,  indeed  !  —  he  did  not  err  !  —  there  was  a 
fiend  at  his  elbow !  A  mortal  man,  with  once  a  human  heart, 
has  become  a  fiend  for  his  especial  torment !  " 

The  unfortunate  physician,  while  uttering  these  words,  lifted 
his  hands  with  a  look  of  horror,  as  if  he  had  beheld  some 
frightful    shape,    which    he    could    not    recognize,    usurping    the 


HESTER   AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  209 

place  of  his  own  image  in  a  glass.  It  was  one  of  those  moments 
—  which  sometimes  occur  only  at  the  interval  of  years  —  when 
a  man's  moral  aspect  is  faithfully  revealed  to  his  mind's  eye. 
Not  improbably,  he  had  never  before  viewed  himself  as  he  did  now. 

"  Hast  thou  not  tortured  him  enough  ?  "  said  Hester,  noticing 
the  old  man's  look.     "  Has  he  not  paid  thee  all  ? " 

"  No  !  —  no  !  —  He  has  but  increased  the  debt !  w  answered 
the  physician;  and  as  he  proceeded  his  manner  lost  its  fiercer 
characteristics,  and  subsided  into  gloom.  "Dost  thou  remember 
me,  Hester,  as  I  was  nine  years  agone?  Even  then,  I  was  in 
the  autumn  of  my  days,  nor  was  it  the  early  autumn.  But  all 
my  life  had  been  made  up  of  earnest,  studious,  thoughtful,  quiet 
years,  bestowed  faithfully  for  the  increase  of  mine  own  knowl- 
edge, and  faithfully,  too,  though  this  latter  object  was  but 
casual  to  the  other,  —  faithfully  for  the  advancement  of  human 
welfare.  No  life  had  been  more  peaceful  and  innocent  than 
mine;  few  lives  so  rich  with  benefits  conferred.  Dost  thou 
remember  me?  Was  I  not,  though  you  might  deem  me  cold, 
nevertheless  a  man  thoughtful  for  others,  craving  little  for  him- 
self,—  kind,  true,  just,  and  of  constant,  if  not  warm  affections? 
Was  I  not  all  this?" 

"All  this,  and  more,"  said  Hester. 

"  And  what  am  I  now  ?  "  demanded  he,  looking  into  her  face, 
and  permitting  the  whole  evil  within  him  to  be  written  on  his 
features.  "  I  have  already  told  thee  what  I  am  !  A  fiend  !  Who 
made  me  so  ?  M 

"  It  was  myself ! "  cried  Hester,  shuddering.  "  It  was  I,  not 
less  than  he.     Why  hast  thou  not  avenged  thyself  on  me?" 

"  I  have  left  thee  to  the  scarlet  letter,"  replied  Roger  Chilling- 
worth.     "  If  that  have  not  avenged  me,  I  can  do  no  more ! " 


210  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

He  laid  his  finger  on  it,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  has  avenged  thee ! "   answered  Hester  Prynne. 

"I  judged  no  less,"  said  the  physician.  "And  now,  what 
wouldst  thou  with  me  touching  this  man?" 

"  I  must  reveal  the  secret,"  answered  Hester,  firmly.  "  He 
must  discern  thee  in  thy  true  character.  What  may  be  the 
result,  I  know  not.  But  this  long  debt  of  confidence,  due  from 
me  to  him,  whose  bane  and  ruin  I  have  been,  shall  at  length  be 
paid.  So  far  as  concerns  the  overthrow  or  preservation  of  his 
fair  fame  and  his  earthly  state,  and  perchance  his  life,  he  is  in 
thy  hands.  Nor  do  I,  —  whom  the  scarlet  letter  has  disciplined 
to  truth,  though  it  be  the  truth  of  red-hot  iron,  entering  into 
the  soul,  —  nor  do  I  perceive  such  advantage  in  his  living  any 
longer  a  life  of  ghastly  emptiness,  that  I  shall  stoop  to  implore 
thy  mercy.  Do  with  him  as  thou  wilt !  There  is  no  good  for 
him,  —  no  good  for  me,  —  no  good  for  thee  !  There  is  no  good 
for  little  Pearl !  There  is  no  path  to  guide  us  out  of  this  dismal 
maze ! " 

"  Woman,  I  could  wellnigh  pity  thee ! "  said  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  unable  to  restrain  a  thrill  of  admiration  too;  for  there 
was  a  quality  almost  majestic  in  the  despair  which  she  expressed. 
"Thou  hadst  great  elements.  Peradventure,  hadst  thou  met 
earlier  with  a  better  love  than  mine,  this  evil  had  not  been.  I 
pity  thee,  for  the  good  that  has  been  wasted  in  thy  nature ! " 

"And  I  thee,"  answered  Hester  Prynne,  "for  the  hatred  that 
has  transformed  a  wise  and  just  man  to  a  fiend !  Wilt  thou 
yet  purge  it  out  of  thee,  and  be  once  more  human  ?  If  not 
for  his  sake,  then  doubly  for  thine  own  !  Forgive,  and  leave 
his  further  retribution  to  the  Power  that  claims  it !  I  said,  but 
now,  that  there  could   be  no   good  event  for   him,    or   thee,    or 


HESTER   AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  211 

me,  who  are  here  wandering  together  in  this  gloomy  maze  of 
evil,  and  stumbling,  at  every  step,  over  the  guilt  wherewith  we 
have  strewn  our  path.  It  is  not  so !  There  might  be  good  for 
thee,  and  thee  alone,  since  thou  hast  been  deeply  wronged,  and 
hast  it  at  thy  will  to  pardon.  Wilt  thou  give  up  that  only 
privilege?     Wilt  thou  reject  that  priceless  benefit?" 

"Peace,  Hester,  peace!"  replied  the  old  man,  with  gloomy 
sternness.  "  It  is  not  granted  me  to  pardon.  I  have  no  such 
power  as  thou  tellest  me  of.  My  old  faith,  long  forgotten, 
comes  back  to  me,  and  explains  all  that  we  do,  and  all  we 
suffer.  By  thy  first  step  awry  thou  didst  plant  the  germ  of 
evil ;  but  since  that  moment,  it  has  all  been  a  dark  necessity. 
Ye  that  have  wronged  me  are  not  sinful,  save  in  a  kind  of 
typical  illusion ;  neither  am  I  fiend-like,  who  have  snatched  a 
fiend's  office  from  his  hands.  It  is  our  fate.  Let  the  black 
flower  blossom  as  it  may  !  Now  go  thy  ways,  and  deal  as  thou 
wilt  with  yonder  man." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  betook  himself  again  to  his  employ- 
ment of  gathering  herbs. 


XV. 


HESTER    AND    PEARL. 


>0  Roger  Chillingworth — a  deformed  old  figure, 
with  a  face  that  haunted  men's  memories 
longer  than  they  liked — took  leave  of  Hester 
Prynne,  and  went  stooping  away  along  the 
earth.  He  gathered  here  and  there  an  herb, 
or  grubbed  up  a  root,  and  put  it  into  the 
basket  on  his  arm.  His  gray  beard  almost  touched  the  ground, 
as  he  crept  onward.  Hester  gazed  after  him  a  little  while,  look- 
ing with  a  half-fantastic  curiosity  to  see  whether  the  tender  grass 
of  early  spring  would  not  be  blighted  beneath  him,  and  show 
the  wavering  track  of  his  footsteps,  sere  and  brown,  across  its 
cheerful  verdure.  She  wondered  what  sort  of  herbs  they  were, 
which  the  old  man  was  so  sedulous  to  gather.  Would  not  the 
earth,  quickened  to  an  evil  purpose  by  the  sympathy  of  his  eye, 
greet  him  with  poisonous  shrubs,  of  species  hitherto  unknown, 
that  would  start  up  under  his  fingers  ?  Or  might  it  suffice 
him,  that  every  wholesome  growth  should  be  converted  into 
something   deleterious    and   malignant   at   his    touch  ?     Did    the 


HESTER   AND    PEARL.  215 

sun,  ■which  shone  so  brightly  everywhere  else,  really  fall  upon 
him  ?  Or  was  there,  as  it  rather  seemed,  a  circle  of  ominous 
shadow  moving  along  with  his  deformity,  whichever  way  he 
turned  himself?  And  whither  was  he  now  going?  Would  he 
not  suddenly  sink  into  the  earth,  leaving  a  barren  and  blasted 
spot,  where,  in  due  course  of  time,  would  be  seen  deadly  night- 
shade, dogwood,  henbane,  and  whatever  else  of  vegetable  wick- 
edness the  climate  could  produce,  all  flourishing  with  hideous 
luxuriance  ?  Or  would  he  spread  bat's  wings  and  flee  away, 
looking  so  much  the  uglier,  the  higher  he  rose  towards  heaven  ? 

"Be  it  sin  or  no,"  said  Hester  Prynne,  bitterly,  as  she  still 
gazed  after  him,  "  I  hate  the  man ! " 

She  upbraided  herself  for  the  sentiment,  but  could  not  over- 
come or  lessen  it.  Attempting  to  do  so,  she  thought  of  those 
long-past  days,  in  a  distant  land,  when  he  used  to  emerge  at 
eventide  from  the  seclusion  of  his  study,  and  sit  down  in  the 
firelight  of  their  home,  and  in  the  light  of  her  nuptial  smile. 
He  needed  to  bask  himself  in  that  smile,  he  said,  in  order  that 
the  chill  of  so  many  lonely  hours  among  his  books  might  be 
taken  off  the  scholar's  heart.  Such  scenes  had  once  appeared 
not  otherwise  than  happy,  but  now,  as  viewed  through  the  dis- 
mal medium  of  her  subsequent  life,  they  classed  themselves  among 
her  ugliest  remembrances.  She  marvelled  how  such  scenes  could 
have  been  !  She  marvelled  how  she  could  ever  have  been  wrought 
upon  to  marry  him !  She  deemed  it  her  crime  most  to  be 
repented  of,  that  she  had  ever  endured,  and  reciprocated,  the 
lukewarm  grasp  of  his  hand,  and  had  suffered  the  smile  of  her 
lips  and  eyes  to  mingle  and  melt  into  his  own.  And  it  seemed 
a  fouler  offence  committed  by  Eoger  Chillingworth,  than  any 
which   had   since   been   done   him,   that,  in   the   time   when   her 


216  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

heart  knew  no  better,  he  had  persuaded  her  to  fancy  herself 
happy  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,  I  hate  him !  **  repeated  Hester,  more  bitterly  than 
before.  "  He  betrayed  me !  He  has  done  me  worse  wrong 
than  I  did  him  !  " 

Let  men  tremble  to  win  the  hand  of  woman,  unless  they  win 
along  with  it  the  utmost  passion  of  her  heart !  Else  it  may  be 
their  miserable  fortune,  as  it  was  Roger  Chillingworth's,  when 
some  mightier  touch  than  their  own  may  have  awakened  all  her 
sensibilities,  to  be  reproached  even  for  the  calm  content,  the 
marble  image  of  happiness,  which  they  will  have  imposed  upon 
her  as  the  warm  reality.  But  Hester  ought  long  ago  to  have 
done  with  this  injustice.  What  did  it  betoken?  Had  seven 
long  years,  under  the  torture  of  the  scarlet  letter,  inflicted  so 
much  of  misery,  and  wrought  out  no  repentance? 

The  emotions  of  that  brief  space,  while  she  stood  gazing  after 
the  crooked  figure  of  old  Eoger  Chillingworth,  threw  a  dark 
light  on  Hester's  state  of  mind,  revealing  much  that  she  inight 
not  otherwise  have  acknowledged  to  herself. 

He  being  gone,  she  summoned  back  her  child. 

"  Pearl !     Little  Pearl !     Where  are  you  ?  " 

Pearl,  whose  activity  of  spirit  never  flagged,  had  been  at  no 
loss  for  amusement  while  her  mother  talked  with  the  old  gatherer 
of  herbs.  At  first,  as  already  told,  she  had  flirted  fancifully 
with  her  own  image  in  a  pool  of  water,  beckoning  the  phantom 
forth,  and  —  as  it  declined  to  venture  —  seeking  a  passage  for 
herself  into  its  sphere  of  impalpable  earth  and  unattainable  sky. 
Soon  finding,  however,  that  either  she  or  the  image  was  unreal, 
she  turned  elsewhere  for  better  pastime.  She  made  little  boats 
out  of  birch-bark,  and  freighted  them  with  snail- shells,  and  sent 


HESTER    AND    PEARL. 


217 


out  more  ventures  on  the  mighty  deep  than  any  merchant  in 
New  England;  but  the  larger  part  of  them  foundered  near  the 
shore.  She  seized  a  live  horseshoe  by  the  tail,  and  made  prize 
of  several  five-fingers,  and  laid  out  a  jelly-fish  to  melt  in  the 
warm  sun.  Then  she  took  up  the  white  foam,  that  streaked 
the  line  of  the  advancing  tide,  and  threw  it  upon  the  breeze, 
scampering  after   it,  with   winged  footsteps,   to   catch   the   great 


snow-flakes  ere  they  fell.  Perceiving  a  flock  of  beach-birds, 
that  fed  and  fluttered  along  the  shore,  the  naughty  child  picked 
up  her  apron  full  of  pebbles,  and,  creeping  from  rock  to  rock 
after  these  small  sea-fowl,  displayed  remarkable  dexterity  in  pelt- 
ing them.  One  little  gray  bird,  with  a  white  breast,  Pearl  was 
almost  sure,  had  been  hit  by  a  pebble,  and  fluttered  away  with 
a  broken  wing.     But  then  the  elf-child  sighed,  and  gave  up  her 


218  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

sport;  because  it  grieved  her  to  have  done  harm  to  a  little  being 
that  was  as  wild  as  the  sea-breeze,  or  as  wild  as  Pearl  herself. 

Her  final  employment  was  to  gather  sea-weed,  of  various 
kinds,  and  make  herself  a  scarf,  or  mantle,  and  a  head-dress, 
and  thus  assume  the  aspect  of  a  little  mermaid.  She  inherited 
her  mother's  gift  for  devising  drapery  and  costume.  As  the  last 
touch  to  her  mermaid's  garb,  Pearl  took  some  eel-grass,  and 
imitated,  as  best  she  could,  on  her  own  bosom,  the  decoration 
with  which  she  was  so  familiar  on  her  mother's.  A  letter,  — 
the  letter  A,  —  but  freshly  green,  instead  of  scarlet !  The  child 
bent  her  chin  upon  her  breast,  and  contemplated  this  device  with 
strange  interest ;  even  as  if  the  one  only  thing  for  which  she 
had  been  sent  into  the  world  was  to  make  out  its  hidden  import. 

"  I  wonder  if  mother  will  ask  me  what  it  means  ?  "  thought 
Pearl. 

Just  then,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and  flitting  along  as 
lightly  as  one  of  the  little  sea-birds,  appeared  before  Hester 
Prynne,  dancing,  laughing,  and  pointing  her  finger  to  the  orna- 
ment upon  her  bosom. 

u  My  little  Pearl,"  said  Hester,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  the 
green  letter,  and  on  thy  childish  bosom,  has  no  purport.  But 
dost  thou  know,  my  child,  what  this  letter  means  which  thy 
mother  is  doomed  to  wear?" 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  child.  "  It  is  the  great  letter  A. 
Thou  hast  taught  me  in  the  horn-book." 

Hester  looked  steadily  into  her  little  face;  but,  though  there 
was  that  singular  expression  which  she  had  so  often  remarked 
in  her  black  eyes,  she  could  not  satisfy  herself  whether  Pearl 
really  attached  any  meaning  to  the  symbol.  She  felt  a  morbid 
desire  to  ascertain  the  point. 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  219 

"Dost  thou  know,  child,  wherefore  thy  mother  wears  this 
letter  ?  n 

"  Truly  do  I ! "  answered  Pearl,  looking  brightly  into  her 
mother's  face.  u  It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  the  minister 
keeps  his  hand  over  his  heart !  " 

"  And  what  reason  is  that  ? M  asked  Hester,  half  smiling  at 
the  absurd  incongruity  of  the  child's  observation;  but,  on  second 
thoughts,  turning  pale.  "  What  has  the  letter  to  do  with  any 
heart,  save  mine  ?  ** 

"Nay,  mother,  I  have  told  all  I  know,"  said  Pearl,  more 
seriously  than  she  was  wont  to  speak.  "  Ask  yonder  old  man 
whom  thou  hast  been  talking  with !  It  may  be  he  can  tell. 
But  in  good  earnest  now,  mother  dear,  what  does  this  scarlet 
letter  mean  ?  —  and  why  dost  thou  wear  it  on  thy  bosom  ?  — 
and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his  hand  over  his  heart?" 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and  gazed  into 
her  eyes  Avith  an  earnestness  that  was  seldom  seen  in  her  wild 
and  capricious  character.  The  thought  occurred  to  Hester,  that 
the  child  might  really  be  seeking  to  approach  her  with  childlike 
confidence,  and  doing  what  she  could,  and  as  intelligently  as  she 
knew  how,  to  establish  a  meeting-point  of  sympathy.  It  showed 
Pearl  in  an  unwonted  aspect.  Heretofore,  the  mother,  while 
loving  her  child  with  the  intensity  of  a  sole  affection,  had  schooled 
herself  to  hope  for  little  other  return  than  the  waywardness  of 
an  April  breeze;  which  spends  its  time  in  airy  sport,  and  has 
its  gusts  of  inexplicable  passion,  and  is  petulant  in  its  best  of 
moods,  and  chills  oftener  than  caresses  you,  when  you  take  it 
to  your  bosom ;  in  requital  of  which  misdemeanors,  it  will  some- 
times, of  its  own  vague  purpose,  kiss  your  cheek  with  a  kind  of 
doubtful  tenderness,  and  play  gently  with   your  hair,  and  then 


220         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

be  gone  about  its  other  idle  business,  leaving  a  dreamy  pleasure 
at  your  heart.  And  this,  moreover,  was  a  mother's  estimate  of 
the  child's  disposition.  Any  other  observer  might  have  seen 
few  but  unamiable  traits,  and  have  given  them  a  far  darker 
coloring.  But  now  the  idea  came  strongly  into  Hester's  mind, 
that  Pearl,  with  her  remarkable  precocity  and  acuteness,  might 
already  have  approached  the  age  when  she  could  be  made  a 
friend,  and  intrusted  with  as  much  of  her  mother's  sorrows  as 
could  be  imparted,  without  irreverence  either  to  the  parent  or 
the  child.  In  the  little  chaos  of  Pearl's  character  there  might 
be  seen  emerging  —  and  could  have  been,  from  the  very  first  — 
the  steadfast  principles  of  an  unflinching  courage,  —  an  uncon- 
trollable will,  —  a  sturdy  pride,  which  might  be  disciplined  into 
self-respect,  —  and  a  bitter  scorn  of  many  things,  which,  when 
examined,  might  be  found  to  have  the  taint  of  falsehood  in  them. 
She  possessed  affections,  too,  though  hitherto  acrid  and  disagree- 
able, as  are  the  richest  flavors  of  unripe  fruit.  With  all  these 
sterling  attributes,  thought  Hester,  the  evil  which  she  inherited 
from  her  mother  must  be  great  indeed,  if  a  noble  woman  do 
not  grow  out  of  this  elfish  child. 

Pearl's  inevitable  tendency  to  hover  about  the  enigma  of  the 
scarlet  letter  seemed  an  innate  quality  of  her  being.  From  the 
earliest  epoch  of  her  conscious  life,  she  had  entered  upon  this 
as  her  appointed  mission.  Hester  had  often  fancied  that  Provi- 
dence had  a  design  of  justice  and  retribution,  in  endowing  the 
child  with  this  marked  propensity;  but  never,  until  now,  had 
she  bethought  herself  to  ask,  whether,  linked  with  that  design, 
there  might  not  likewise  be  a  purpose  of  mercy  and  beneficence. 
If  little  Pearl  were  entertained  with  faith  and  trust,  as  a  spirit 
messenger  no  less  than  an  earthly  child,  might  it  not  be  her 


HESTER   AND    PEARL.  221 

errand  to  soothe  away  the  sorrow  that  lay  cold  in  her  mother's 
heart,  and  converted  it  into  a  tomb  ?  —  and  to  help  her  to  over- 
come the  passion,  once  so  wild,  and  even  yet  neither  dead  nor 
asleep,  but  only  imprisoned  within  the  same  tomb-like  heart? 

Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  now  stirred  in  Hester's 
mind,  with  as  much  vivacity  of  impression  as  if  they  had  actually 
been  whispered  into  her  ear.  And  there  was  little  Pearl,  all 
this  while,  holding  her  mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and 
turning  her  face  upward,  while  she  put  these  searching  ques- 
tions, once,  and  again,  and  still  a  third  time. 

"What  does  the  letter  mean,  mother?  —  and  why  dost  thou 
wear  it  ?  —  and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his  hand  over  his 
heart?" 

"What  shall  I  say?"  thought  Hester  to  herself.  "No!  If 
this  be  the  price  of  the  child's  sympathy,  I  cannot  pay  it." 

Then  she  spoke  aloud. 

"  Silly  Pearl,"  said  she,  "  what  questions  are  these  ?  There 
are  many  things  in  this  world  that  a  child  must  not  ask  about. 
What  know  I  of  the  minister's  heart?  And  as  for  the  scarlet 
letter,  I  wear  it  for  the  sake  of  its  gold-thread." 

In  all  the  seven  bygone  years,  Hester  Prynne  had  never 
before  been  false  to  the  symbol  on  her  bosom.  It  may  be  that 
it  was  the  talisman  of  a  stern  and  severe,  but  yet  a  guardian 
spirit,  who  now  forsook  her;  as  recognizing  that,  in  spite  of 
his  strict  watch  over  her  heart,  some  new  evil  had  crept  into 
it,  or  some  old  one  had  never  been  expelled.  As  for  little 
Pearl,  the  earnestness  soon  passed  out  of  her  face. 

But  the  child  did  not  see  fit  to  let  the  matter  drop.  Two 
or  three  times,  as  her  mother  and  she  went  homeward,  and  as 
often  at  supper-time,  and  while  Hester  was  putting  her  to  bed, 


222 


THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 


and  once  after  she  seemed  to  be  fairly  asleep,  Pearl  looked  up, 
with  mischief  gleaming  in  her  black  eyes. 

"  Mother/'  said  she,  "  what  does  the  scarlet  letter  mean  ? " 

And  the  next  morning,  the  first  indication  the  child  gave  of 
being  awake  was  by  popping  up  her  head  from  the  pillow,  and 
making  that  other  inquiry,  which  she  had  so  unaccountably 
connected  with  her  investigations  about  the  scarlet  letter :  — 

"  Mother !  —  Mother  !  —  Why  does  the  minister  keep  his  hand 
over  his  heart?" 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  naughty  child ! w  answered  her  mother, 
with  an  asperity  that  she  had  never  permitted  to  herself  be- 
fore. "  Do  not  tease  me ;  else  I  shall  shut  thee  into  the  dark 
closet ! " 


XYI. 


A  FOREST  WALK. 


fESTER  PRYNNE  remained  constant  in  her 
resolve  to  make  known  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
at  whatever  risk  of  present  pain  or  ulterior 
consequences,  the  true  character  of  the  man 
who  had  crept  into  his  intimacy.  For  several 
days,  however,  she  vainly  sought  an  oppor- 
tunity of  addressing  him  in  some  of  the  meditative  walks  which 
she  knew  him  to  be  in  the  habit  of  taking,  along  the  shores  of 
the  peninsula,  or  on  the  wooded  hills  of  the  neighboring  coun- 
try. There  would  have  been  no  scandal,  indeed,  nor  peril  to 
the  holy  whiteness  of  the  clergyman's  good  fame,  had  she 
visited  him  in  his  own  study;  where  many  a  penitent,  ere  now, 
had  confessed  sins  of  perhaps  as  deep  a  dye  as  the  one  be- 
tokened by  the  scarlet  letter.  But,  partly  that  she  dreaded  the 
secret  or  undisguised  interference  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
and  partly  that  her  conscious  heart  imputed  suspicion  where 
none  could  have  been  felt,  and  partly  that  both  the  minister 
and  she  would  need  the  whole  wide  world  to  breathe  in,  while 


224         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

they  talked  together,  —  for  all  these  reasons,  Hester  never  thought 
of  meeting  him  in  any  narrower  privacy  than  beneath  the  open 
sky. 

At  last,  while  attending  in  a  sick-chamber,  whither  the  Eever- 
end  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  been  summoned  to  make  a  prayer,  she 
learnt  that  he  had  gone,  the  day  before,  to  visit  the  Apostle 
Eliot,  among  his  Indian  converts.  He  would  probably  return, 
by  a  certain  hour,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  morrow.  Betimes, 
therefore,  the  next  day,  Hester  took  little  Pearl,  —  who  was 
necessarily  the  companion  of  all  her  mother's  expeditions,  how- 
ever inconvenient  her  presence,  —  and  set  forth. 

The  road,  after  the  two  wayfarers  had  crossed  from  the  penin- 
sula to  the  mainland,  was  no  other  than  a  footpath.  It  straggled 
onward  into  the  mystery  of  the  primeval  forest.  This  hemmed 
it  in  so  narrowly,  and  stood  so  black  and  dense  on  either  side, 
and  disclosed  such  imperfect  glimpses  of  the  sky  above,  that, 
to  Hester's  mind,  it  imaged  not  amiss  the  moral  wilderness  in 
which  she  had  so  long  been  wandering.  The  day  was  chill  and 
sombre.  Overhead  was  a  gray  expanse  of  cloud,  slightly  stirred, 
however,  by  a  breeze ;  so  that  a  gleam  of  flickering  sunshine 
might  now  and  then  be  seen  at  its  solitary  play  along  the  path. 
This  flitting  cheerfulness  was  always  at  the  farther  extremity  of 
some  long  vista  through  the  forest.  The  sportive  sunlight  — 
feebly  sportive,  at  best,  in  the  predominant  pensiveness  of  the 
day  and  scene  —  withdrew  itself  as  they  came  nigh,  and  left  the 
spots  where  it  had  danced  the  drearier,  because  they  had  hoped 
to  find  them  bright. 

"  Mother,"  said  little  Pearl,  "  the  sunshine  does  not  love  you. 
It  runs  away  and  hides  itself,  because  it  is  afraid  of  something 
on  your  bosom.     Now,  see  !     There  it   is,  playing,  a  good  way 


A  FOREST   WALK.  225 

off.  Stand  you  here,  and  let  me  run  and  catch  it.  I  am  but 
a  child.  It  will  not  flee  from  me ;  for  I  wear  nothing  on  my 
bosom  yet !  " 

"  Nor  ever  will,  my  child,  I  hope,"  said  Hester. 

"  And  why  not,  mother  ?  "  asked  Pearl,  stopping  short,  just 
at  the  beginning  of  her  race.  "Will  not  it  come  of  its  own 
accord,  when  I  am  a  woman  grown?" 

"  Eun  away,  child,"  answered  her  mother,  "  and  catch  the 
sunshine  !     It  will  soon  be  gone." 

Pearl  set  forth,  at  a  great  pace,  and,  as  Hester  smiled  to  per- 
ceive, did  actually  catch  the  sunshine,  and  stood  laughing  in  the 
midst  of  it,  all  brightened  by  its  splendor,  and  scintillating  with 
the  vivacity  excited  by  rapid  motion.  The  light  lingered  about 
the  lonely  child,  as  if  glad  of  such  a  playmate,  until  her  mother 
had  drawn  almost  nigh  enough  to  step  into  the  magic  circle  too*. 

"  It  will  go  now,"  said  Pearl,  shaking  her  head. 

"  See  ! "  answered  Hester,  smiling.  "  Now  I  can  stretch  out 
my  hand,  and  grasp  some  of  it." 

As  she  attempted  to  do  so,  the  sunshine  vanished;  or,  to 
judge  from  the  bright  expression  that  was  dancing  on  Pearl's 
features,  her  mother  could  have  fancied  that  the  child  had 
absorbed  it  into  herself,  and  would  give  it  forth  again,  with  a 
gleam  about  her  path,  as  they  should  plunge  into  some  gloomier 
shade.  There  was  no  other  attribute  that  so  much  impressed 
her  with  a  sense  of  new  and  untransmitted  vigor  in  Pearl's 
nature,  as  this  never-failing  vivacity  of  spirits ;  she  had  not  the 
disease  of  sadness,  which  almost  all  children,  in  these  latter  days, 
inherit,  with  the  scrofula,  from  the  troubles  of  their  ancestors. 
Perhaps  this  too  was  a  disease,  and  but  the  reflex  of  the  wild 
energy  with  which  Hester  had  fought  against  her  sorrows,  before 


226  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Pearl's  birth.  It  was  certainly  a  doubtful  charm,  imparting  a 
hard,  metallic  lustre  to  the  child's  character.  She  wanted  — 
what  some  people  want  throughout  life  —  a  grief  that  should 
deeply  touch  her,  and  thus  humanize  and  make  her  capable  of 
sympathy.     But  there  was  time  enough  yet  for  little  Pearl. 

"  Come,  my  child  ! "  said  Hester,  looking  about  her  from  the 
spot  where  Pearl  had  stood  still  in  the  sunshine.  "We  will  sit 
down  a  little  way  within  the  wood,  and  rest  ourselves/' 

"  I  am  not  aweary,  mother/'  replied  the  little  girl.  "  But 
you  may  sit  down,  if  you  will  tell  me  a  story  meanwhile." 

"A  story,  child!"   said  Hester.     "And  about  what?" 

"  0,  a  story  about  the  Black  Man,"  answered  Pearl,  taking 
hold  of  her  mother's  gown,  and  looking  up,  half  earnestly,  half 
mischievously,  into  her  face.  "How  he  haunts  this  forest,  and 
carries  a  book  with  him,  —  a  big,  heavy  book,  with  iron  clasps ; 
and  how  this  ugly  Black  Man  offers  his  book  and  an  iron  pen 
to  everybody  that  meets  him  here  among  the  trees ;  and  they 
are  to  write  their  names  with  their  own  blood.  And  then  he 
sets  his  mark  on  their  bosoms!  Didst  thou  ever  meet  the 
Black  Man,  mother?" 

"And  who  told  you  this  story,  Pearl?"  asked  her  mother, 
recognizing  a  common  superstition  of  the  period. 

"It  was  the  old  dame  in  the  chimney-corner,  at  the  house 
where  you  watched  last  night,"  said  the  child.  "But  she  fancied 
me  asleep  while  she  was  talking  of  it.  She  said  that  a  thousand 
and  a  thousand  people  had  met  him  here,  and  had  written  in 
his  book,  and  have  his  mark  on  them.  And  that  ugly-tempered 
lady,  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  was  one.  And,  mother,  the  old 
dame  said  that  this  scarlet  letter  was  the  Black  Man's  mark  on 
thee,  and  that  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  when  thou  meetest  him 


A   FOREST    WALK.  227 

at  midnight,  here  in  the  dark  wood.  Is  it  true,  mother?  And 
dost  thou  go  to  meet  him  in  the  night-time?" 

"  Didst  thou  ever  awake,  and  find  thy  mother  gone  ?  "  asked 
Hester. 

"Not  that  I  remember,"  said  the  child.  "If  thou  fearest  to 
leave  me  in  our  cottage,  thou  mightest  take  me  along  with  thee. 
I  would  very  gladly  go !  But,  mother,  tell  me  now !  Is  there 
such  a  Black  Man  ?  And  didst  thou  ever  meet  him  ?  And  is 
this  his  mark  ?  " 

"  Wilt  thou  let  me  be  at  peace,  if  I  once  tell  thee  ?  **  asked 
her  mother. 

"Yes,  if  thou  tellest  me  all,"  answered  Pearl. 

"  Once  in  my  life  I  met  the  Black  Man  1 "  said  her  mother. 
"  This  scarlet  letter  is  his  mark  ! " 

Thus  conversing,  they  entered  sufficiently  deep  into  the  wood 
to  secure  themselves  from  the  observation  of  any  casual  pas- 
senger along  the  forest  track.  Here  they  sat  down  on  a  lux- 
uriant heap  of  moss ;  which,  at  some  epoch  of  the  preceding 
century,  had  been  a  gigantic  pine,  with  its  roots  and  trunk  in 
the  darksome  shade,  and  its  head  aloft  in  the  upper  atmosphere. 
It  was  a  little  dell  where  they  had  seated  themselves,  with  a 
leaf-strewn  bank  rising  gently  on  either  side,  and  a  brook  flow- 
ing through  the  midst,  over  a  bed  of  fallen  and  drowned  leaves. 
The  trees  impending  over  it  had  flung  down  great  branches, 
from  time  to  time,  which  choked  up  the  current  and  compelled 
it  to  form  eddies  and  black  depths  at  some  points ;  while,  in  its 
swifter  and  livelier  passages,  there  appeared  a  channel-way  of 
pebbles,  and  brown,  sparkling  sand.  Letting  the  eyes  follow 
along  the  course  of  the  stream,  they  could  catch  the  reflected 
light   from   its  water,  at  some  short  distance  within   the   forest, 


228         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

but  soon  lost  all  traces  of  it  amid  the  bewilderment  of  tree- 
trunks  and  underbrush,  and  here  and  there  a  huge  rock  covered 
over  with  gray  lichens.  All  these  giant  trees  and  bowlders  of 
granite  seemed  intent  on  making  a  mystery  of  the  course  of  this 
small  brook ;  fearing,  perhaps,  that,  with  its  never-ceasing  loqua- 
city, it  should  whisper  tales  out  of  the  heart  of  the  old  forest 
whence  it  flowed,  or  mirror  its  revelations  on  the  smooth  surface 
of  a  pool.  Continually,  indeed,  as  it  stole  onward,  the  streamlet 
kept  up  a  babble,  kind,  quiet,  soothing,  but  melancholy,  like 
the  voice  of  a  young  child  that  was  spending  its  infancy  with- 
out playfulness,  and  knew  not  how  to  be  merry  among  sad 
acquaintance  and  events  of  sombre  hue. 

"  0  brook !  0  foolish  and  tiresome  little  brook ! "  cried 
Pearl,  after  listening  awhile  to  its  talk.  "Why  art  thou  so 
sad?  Pluck  up  a  spirit,  and  do  not  be  all  the  time  sighing 
and  murmuring ! M 

But  the  brook,  in  the  course  of  its  little  lifetime  among  the 
forest-trees,  had  gone  through  so  solemn  an  experience  that  it 
could  not  help  talking  about  it,  and  seemed  to  have  nothing 
else  to  say.  Pearl  resembled  the  brook,  inasmuch  as  the  cur- 
rent of  her  life  gushed  from  a  well-spring  as  mysterious,  and 
had  flowed  through  scenes  shadowed  as  heavily  with  gloom. 
But,  unlike  the  little  stream,  she  dauced  and  sparkled,  and  prat- 
tled airily  along  her  course. 

"  What  does  this  sad  little  brook  say,  mother  ?  "  inquired  she. 

"  If  thou  hadst  a  sorrow  of  thine  own,  the  brook  might  tell  thee 
of  it,"  answered  her  mother,  "  even  as  it  is  telling  me  of  mine  1 
But  now,  Pearl,  I  hear  a  footstep  along  the  path,  and  the  noise  of 
one  putting  aside  the  branches.  I  would  have  thee  betake  thyself 
to  play,  and  leave  me  to  speak  with  him  that  comes  yonder." 


A  FOREST  WALK.  229 

"Is  it  the  Black  Man?"  asked  Pearl. 

"  Wilt  thou  go  and  play,  child  ? "  repeated  her  mother. 
"  But  do  not  stray  far  into  the  wood.  And  take  heed  that 
thou  come  at  my  first  call." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  Pearl.  "  But  if  it  be  the  Black 
Man,  wilt  thou  not  let  me  stay  a  moment,  and  look  at  him, 
with  his  big  book  under  his  arm?" 

"  Go,  silly  child  ! "  said  her  mother,  impatiently.  "  It  is  no 
Black  Man !  Thou  canst  see  him  now,  through  the  trees.  It 
is  the  minister  ! " 

"  And  so  it  is  ! "  said  the  child.  "  And,  mother,  he  has  his 
hand  over  his  heart !  Is  it  because,  when  the  minister  wrote 
his  name  in  the  book,  the  Black  Man  set  his  mark  in  that  place  ? 
But  why  does  he  not  wear  it  outside  his  bosom,  as  thou  dost, 
mother  ?  " 

"  Go  now,  child,  and  thou  shalt  tease  me  as  thou  wilt  another 
time,"  cried  Hester  Prynne.  "But  do  not  stray  far.  Keep 
where  thou  canst  hear  the  babble  of  the  brook." 

The  child  went  singing  away,  following  up  the  current  of  the 
brook,  and  striving  to  mingle  a  more  lightsome  cadence  with 
its  melancholy  voice.  But  the  little  stream  would  not  be  com- 
forted, and  still  kept  telling  its  unintelligible  secret  of  some 
very  mournful  mystery  that  had  happened  —  or  making  a  pro- 
phetic lamentation  about  something  that  was  yet  to  happen  — 
within  the  verge  of  the  dismal  forest.  So  Pearl,  who  had  enough 
of  shadow  in  her  own  little  life,  chose  to  break  off  all  acquaint- 
ance with  this  repining  brook.  She  set  herself,  therefore,  to 
gathering  violets  and  wood-anemones,  and  some  scarlet  colum- 
bines that  she  found  growing  in  the  crevices  of  a  high  rock. 

When  her  elf-child  had  departed,  Hester  Prynne  made  a  step 


230  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

or  two  towards  the  track  that  led  through  the  forest,  but  still 
remained  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees.  She  beheld  the 
minister  advancing  along  the  path,  entirely  alone,  and  leaning 
on  a  staff  which  he  had  cut  by  the  wayside.  He  looked  haggard 
and  feeble,  and  betrayed  a  nerveless  despondency  in  his  air, 
which  had  never  so  remarkably  characterized  him  in  his  walks 
about  the  settlement,  nor  in  any  other  situation  where  he  deemed 
himself  liable  to  notice.  Here  it  was  wofully  visible,  in  this 
intense  seclusion  of  the  forest,  which  of  itself  would  have  been 
a  heavy  trial  to  the  spirits.  There  was  a  listlessness  in  his 
gait;  as  if  he  saw  no  reason  for  taking  one  step  farther,  nor 
felt  any  desire  to  do  so,  but  would  have  been  glad,  could  he 
be  glad  of  anything,  to  fling  himself  down  at  the  root  of  the 
nearest  tree,  and  lie  there  passive,  forevermore.  The  leaves  might 
bestrew  him,  and  the  soil  gradually  accumulate  and  form  a  little 
hillock  over  his  frame,  no  matter  whether  there  Avere  life  in 
it  or  no.  Death  was  too  definite  an  object  to  be  wished  for, 
or  avoided. 

To  Hester's  eye,  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  exhibited  no 
symptom  of  positive  and  vivacious  suffering,  except  that,  as  little 
Pearl  had  remarked,  he  kept  his  hand  over  his  heart. 


XVII. 


THE    PASTOR    AND    HIS    PARISHIONER. 


'LOWLY  as  the  minister  walked,  he  had  almost 
gone  by,  before  Hester  Prynne  could  gather 
voice  enough  to  attract  his  observation.  At 
length,  she  succeeded. 

**  Arthur   Dimmesdale !  "   she    said,  faintly 
at  first;   then  louder,   but  hoarsely.      "Ar- 
thur  Dimmesdale  !  " 

"  Who  speaks  ?  "  answered  the  minister. 

Gathering  himself  quickly  up,  he  stood  more  erect,  like  a  man 
taken  by  surprise  in  a  mood  to  which  he  was  reluctant  to  have 
witnesses.  Throwing  his  eyes  anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice,  he  indistinctly  beheld  a  form  under  the  trees,  clad  in 
garments  so  sombre,  and  so  little  relieved  from  the  gray  twilight 
into  which  the  clouded  sky  and  the  heavy  foliage  had  darkened 
the  noontide,  that  he  knew  not  whether  it  were  a  woman  or  a 
shadow.  It  may  be,  that  his  pathway  through  life  was  haunted 
thus,  by  a  spectre  that  had  stolen  out  from  among  his  thoughts. 
He  made  a  step  nigher,  and  discovered  the  scarlet  letter; 


232  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  Hester !  Hester  Prynne  !  "  said  he.  "  Is  it  thou  ?  Art  thou 
in  life?" 

"  Even  so !  "  she  answered.  "  In  such  life  as  has  been  mine 
these  seven  years  past !  And  thou,  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  dost 
thou  yet  live  ?  " 

It  was  no  wonder  that  they  thus  questioned  one  another's 
actual  and  bodily  existence,  and  even  doubted  of  their  own.  So 
strangely  did  they  meet,  in  the  dim  wood,  that  it  was  like  the 
first  encounter,  in  the  world  beyond  the  grave,  of  two  spirits 
who  had  been  intimately  connected  in  their  former  life,  but  now 
stood  coldly  shuddering,  in  mutual  dread;  as  not  yet  familiar 
with  their  state,  nor  wonted  to  the  companionship  of  disembodied 
beings.  Each  a  ghost,  and  awe-stricken  at  the  other  ghost! 
They  were  awe-stricken  likewise  at  themselves;  because  the  crisis 
flung  back  to  them  their  consciousness,  and  revealed  to  each 
heart  its  history  and  experience,  as  life  never  does,  except  at 
such  breathless  epochs.  The  soul  beheld  its  features  in  the 
mirror  of  the  passing  moment.  It  was  with  fear,  and  tremu- 
lously, and,  as  it  were,  by  a  slow,  reluctant  necessity,  that 
Arthur  Dimmesdale  put  fortli  his  hand,  chill  as  death,  and 
touched  the  chill  hand  of  Hester  Prynne.  The  grasp,  cold  as 
it  was,  took  away  what  was  dreariest  in  the  interview.  They 
now  felt  themselves,  at  least,  inhabitants  of  the  same  sphere. 

Without  a  word  more  spoken,  —  neither  he  nor  she  assuming 
the  guidance,  but  with  an  unexpressed  consent,  —  they  glided 
back  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  whence  Hester  had  emerged, 
and  sat  down  on  the  heap  of  moss  where  she  and  Pearl  had 
before  been  sitting.  When  they  found  voice  to  speak,  it  was, 
at  first,  only  to  utter  remarks  and  inquiries  such  as  any  two 
acquaintance  might  have  made,  about  the  gloomy  sky,  the  threat- 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS   PARISHIONER.        233 

ening  storm,  and,  next,  the  health  of  each.  Thus  they  went 
onward,  not  boldly,  but  step  by  step,  into  the  themes  that  were 
brooding  deepest  in  their  hearts.  So  long  estranged  by  fate  and 
circumstances,  they  needed  something  slight  and  casual  to  run 
before,  and  throw  open  the  doors  of  intercourse,  so  that  their 
real  thoughts  might  be  led  across  the  threshold. 

After  a  while,  the  minister  fixed  his  eyes  on  Hester  Prynne's. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  hast  thou  found  peace  ? " 

She  smiled  drearily,  looking  down  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Hast  thou  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  None  !  —  nothing  but  despair  !  "  he  answered.  "  What  else 
could  I  look  for,  being  what  I  am,  and  leading  such  a  life  as 
mine  ?  Were  I  an  atheist,  —  a  man  devoid  of  conscience,  — 
a  wretch  with  coarse  and  brutal  instincts,  —  I  might  have  found 
peace,  long  ere  now.  Nay,  I  never  should  have  lost  it !  But, 
as  matters  stand  with  my  soul,  whatever  of  good  capacity  there 
originally  was  in  me,  all  of  God's  gifts  that  were  the  choicest 
have  become  the  ministers  of  spiritual  torment.  Hester,  I  am 
most  miserable  !  M 

"The  people  reverence  thee/'  said  Hester.  "And  surely  thou 
workest  good  among  them!     Doth  this  bring  thee  no  comfort?" 

"  More  misery,  Hester  !  —  only  the  more  misery  !  "  answered 
the  clergyman,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "As  concerns  the  good  which  I 
may  appear  to  do,  I  have  no  faith  in  it.  It  must  needs  be  a 
delusion.  What  can  a  ruined  soul,  like  mine,  effect  towards  the 
redemption  of  other  souls  ?  —  or  a  polluted  soul  towards  their 
purification  ?  And  as  for  the  people's  reverence,  would  that 
it  were  turned  to  scorn  and  hatred !  Canst  thou  deem  it, 
Hester,  a  consolation,  that  I  must  stand  up  in  my  pulpit,  and 
meet  so  many  eyes  turned  upward  to    my  face,  as   if  the   light 


234  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

of  heaven  were  beaming  from  it !  —  must  see  my  flock  hungry 
for  the  truth,  and  listening  to  my  words  as  if  a  tongue  of 
Pentecost  were  speaking !  —  and  then  look  inward,  and  discern 
the  black  reality  of  what  they  idolize?  I  have  laughed,  in  bit- 
terness and  agony  of  heart,  at  the  contrast  between  what  I  seem 
and  what  I  am  !     And  Satan  laughs  at  it !  " 

"  You  wrong  yourself  in  this,"  said  Hester,  gently.  "  You 
have  deeply  and  sorely  repented.  Your  sin  is  left  behind  you, 
in  the  days  long  past.  Your  present  life  is  not  less  holy,  in 
very  truth,  than  it  seems  in  people's  eyes.  Is  there  no  reality 
in  the  penitence  thus  sealed  and  witnessed  by  good  works  ?  And 
wherefore  should  it  not  bring  you  peace?" 

"  No,  Hester,  no ! "  replied  the  clergyman.  "  There  is  no 
substance  in  it !  It  is  cold  and  dead,  and  can  do  nothing  for 
me !  Of  penance,  I  have  had  enough  !  Of  penitence,  there  has 
been  none !  Else,  I  should  long  ago  have  thrown  off  these 
garments  of  mock  holiness,  and  have  shown  myself  to  mankind 
as  they  will  see  me  at  the  judgment-seat.  Happy  are  you, 
Hester,  that  wear  the  scarlet  letter  openly  upon  your  bosom ! 
Mine  burns  in  secret !  Thou  little  knowest  what  a  relief  it  is, 
after  the  torment  of  a  seven  years'  cheat,  to  look  into  an  eye 
that  recognizes  me  for  what  I  am !  Had  I  one  friend,  —  or 
were  it  my  worst  enemy !  —  to  whom,  when  sickened  with  the 
praises  of  all  other  men,  I  could  daily  betake  myself,  and  be 
known  as  the  vilest  of  all  sinners,  methinks  my  soul  might  keep 
itself  alive  thereby.  Even  thus  much  of  truth  would  save  me ! 
But,  now,  it  is  all  falsehood  !  —  all  emptiness  !  —  all  death  !  " 

Hester  Prynne  looked  into  his  face,  but  hesitated  to  speak. 
Yet,  uttering  his  long- restrained  emotions  so  vehemently  as  he 
did,  his  words  here  offered  her  the  very  point  of  circumstances 


THE    PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.         235 

in  which  to  interpose  what  she  came  to  say.  She  conquered 
her  fears,  and  spoke. 

"  Such  a  friend  as  thou  hast  even  now  wished  for,"  said  she, 
"  with  whom  to  weep  over  thy  sin,  thou  hast  in  me,  the  partner 
of  it ! "  —  Again  she  hesitated,  but  brought  out  the  words  with 
an  effort.  —  "Thou  hast  long  had  such  an  enemy,  and  dwellest 
with  him,  under  the  same  roof ! " 

The  minister  started  to  his  feet,  gasping  for  breath,  and  clutch- 
ing at  his  heart,  as  if  he  would  have  torn  it  out  of  his  bosom. 

"  Ha !  What  sayest  thou ! "  cried  he.  "  An  enemy  !  And 
under  mine  own  roof!     What  mean  you?" 

Hester  Prynne  was  now  fully  sensible  of  the  deep  injury  for 
which  she  was  responsible  to  this  unhappy  man,  in  permitting 
him  to  lie  for  so  many  years,  or,  indeed,  for  a  single  moment, 
at  the  mercy  of  one  whose  purposes  could  not  be  other  than 
malevolent.  The  very  contiguity  of  his  enemy,  beneath  what- 
ever mask  the  latter  might  conceal  himself,  was  enough  to  dis- 
turb the  magnetic  sphere  of  a  being  so  sensitive  as  Arthur 
Dimmesdale.  There  had  been  a  period  when  Hester  was  less 
alive  to  this  consideration;  or,  perhaps,  in  the  misanthropy  of 
her  own  trouble,  she  left  the  minister  to  bear  what  she  might 
picture  to  herself  as  a  more  tolerable  doom.  But  of  late,  since 
the  night  of  his  vigil,  all  her  sympathies  towards  him  had  been 
both  softened  and  invigorated.  She  now  read  his  heart  more 
accurately.  She  doubted  not,  that  the  continual  presence  of  Roger 
Chillingworth,  —  the  secret  poison  of  his  malignity,  infecting  all 
the  air  about  him,  —  and  his  authorized  interference,  as  a  physi- 
cian, with  the  minister's  physical  and  spiritual  infirmities, — 
that  these  bad  opportunities  had  been  turned  to  a  cruel  pur- 
pose.     By   means   of  them,   the   sufferer's   conscience   had  been 


236  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

kept  in  an  irritated  state,  the  tendency  of  which  was,  not  to 
cure  by  wholesome  pain,  but  to  disorganize  and  corrupt  his 
spiritual  being.  Its  result,  on  earth,  could  hardly  fail  to  be 
insanity,  and  hereafter,  that  eternal  alienation  from  the  Good 
and  True,  of  which  madness  is  perhaps  the  earthly  type. 

Such  was  the  ruin  to  which  she  had  brought  the  man,  once,  — 
nay,  why  should  we  not  speak  it  ?  —  still  so  passionately  loved ! 
Hester  felt  that  the  sacrifice  of  the  clergyman's  good  name,  and 
death  itself,  as  she  had  already  told  Roger  Chillingworth, 
would  have  been  infinitely  preferable  to  the  alternative  which 
she  had  taken  upon  herself  to  choose.  And  now,  rather  than  have 
had  this  grievous  wrong  to  confess,  she  would  gladly  have  lain 
down  on  the  forest-leaves,  and  died  there,  at  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale's  feet. 

"  0  Arthur,"  cried  she,  "  forgive  me !  In  all  things  else, 
I  have  striven  to  be  true !  Truth  was  the  one  virtue  which  I 
might  have  held  fast,  and  did  hold  fast,  through  all  extremity; 
save  when  thy  good,  —  thy  life,  —  thy  fame,  —  were  put  in  ques- 
tion !  Then  I  consented  to  a  deception.  But  a  lie  is  never 
good,  even  though  death  threaten  on  the  other  side !  Dost  thou 
not  see  what  I  would  say  ?  That  old  man  !  —  the  physician  !  — 
he  whom  they  call  Roger  Chillingworth !  —  he  was  my  hus- 
band !  * 

The  minister  looked  at  her,  for  an  instant,  with  all  that  vio- 
lence of  passion,  which  —  intermixed,  in  more  shapes  than  one, 
with  his  higher,  purer,  softer  qualities  —  was,  in  fact,  the  portion 
of  him  which  the  Devil  claimed,  and  througli  which  he  sought 
to  win  the  rest.  Never  was  there  a  blacker  or  a  fiercer  frown 
than  Hester  now  encountered.  For  the  brief  space  that  it  lasted, 
it  was  a  dark  transfiguration.     But   his   character   had  been  so 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.         239 

much  enfeebled  by  suffering,  that  even  its  lower  energies  were 
incapable  of  more  than  a  temporary  struggle.  He  sank  down 
on  the  ground,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  murmured  he.  "  I  did  know  it ! 
Was  not  the  secret  told  me,  in  the  natural  recoil  of  my  heart, 
at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  as  often  as  I  have  seen  him  since? 
Why  did  I  not  understand?  O  Hester  Prynne,  thou  little, 
little  knowest  all  the  horror  of  this  thing !  And  the  shame !  — 
the  indelicacy !  —  the  horrible  ugliness  of  this  exposure  of  a  sick 
and  guilty  heart  to  the  very  eye  that  would  gloat  over  it ! 
Woman,  woman,  thou  art  accountable  for  this !  I  cannot  for- 
give thee!" 

"  Thou  shalt  forgive  me ! "  cried  Hester,  flinging  herself  on 
the  fallen  leaves  beside  him.  "  Let  God  punish !  Thou  shalt 
forgive ! " 

With  sudden  and  desperate  tenderness,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  him,  and  pressed  his  head  against  her  bosom;  little 
caring  though  his  cheek  rested  on  the  scarlet  letter.  He  would 
have  released  himself,  but  strove  in  vain  to  do  so.  Hester  would 
not  set  him  free,  lest  he  should  look  her  sternly  in  the  face. 
All  the  world  had  frowned  on  her,  —  for  seven  long  years  had 
it  frowned  upon  this  lonely  woman,  —  and  still  she  bore  it  all, 
nor  ever  once  turned  away  her  firm,  sad  eyes.  Heaven,  likewise, 
had  frowned  upon  her,  and  she  had  not  died.  But  the  frown 
of  this  pale,  weak,  sinful,  and  sorrow-stricken  man  was  what 
Hester  could  not  bear  and  live ! 

"Wilt  thou  yet  forgive  me?"  she  repeated,  over  and  over 
again.     "Wilt  thou  not  frown?     Wilt  thou  forgive?" 

"I  do  forgive  you,  Hester,"  replied  the  minister,  at  length, 
with  a  deep  utterance,  out  of  an  abyss  of  sadness,  but  no  anger. 


240  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"  I  freely  forgive  you  now.  May  God  forgive  us  both  !  We 
are  not,  Hester,  the  worst  sinners  in  the  world.  There  is  one 
worse  than  even  the  polluted  priest !  That  old  man's  revenge  has 
been  blacker  than  my  sin.  He  has  violated,  in  cold  blood,  the 
sanctity  of  a  human  heart.     Thou  and  I,  Hester,  never  did  so ! w 

"  Never,  never ! "  whispered  she.  "  What  we  did  had  a 
consecration  of  its  own.  We  felt  it  so !  We  said  so  to  each 
other !     Hast  thou  forgotten  it  ?  n 

"  Hush,  Hester ! "  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  rising  from  the 
ground.     "  No ;   I  have  not  forgotten  ! " 

They  sat  down  again,  side  by  side,  and  hand  clasped  in  hand, 
on  the  mossy  trunk  of  the  fallen  tree.  Life  had  never  brought 
them  a  gloomier  hour;  it  was  the  point  whither  their  pathway 
had  so  long  been  tending,  and  darkening  ever,  as  it  stole  along ; 
—  and  yet  it  enclosed  a  charm  that  made  them  linger  upon  it, 
and  claim  another,  and  another,  and,  after  all,  another  moment. 
The  forest  was  obscure  around  them,  and  creaked  witli  a  blast 
that  was  passing  through  it.  The  boughs  were  tossing  heavily 
above  their  heads ;  while  one  solemn  old  tree  groaned  dolefully 
to  another,  as  if  telling  the  sad  story  of  the  pair  that  sat 
beneath,  or  constrained  to  forebode  evil  to  come. 

And  yet  they  lingered.  How  dreary  looked  the  forest-track 
that  led  backward  to  the  settlement,  where  Hester  Prynne  must 
take  up  again  the  burden  of  her  ignominy,  and  the  minister  the 
hollow  mockery  of  his  good  name !  So  they  lingered  an  instant 
longer.  No  golden  light  had  ever  been  so  precious  as  the  gloom 
of  this  dark  forest.  Here,  seen  only  by  his  eyes,  the  scarlet 
letter  need  not  burn  into  the  bosom  of  the  fallen  woman ! 
Here,  seen  only  by  her  eyes,  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  false  to  God 
and  man,  might  be,  for  one  moment,  true  ! 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.         241 

He  started  at  a  thought  that  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 

"  Hester/'  cried  he,  "  here  is  a  new  horror  !  Koger  Chilling- 
worth  knows  your  purpose  to  reveal  his  true  character.  Will 
he  continue,  then,  to  keep  our  secret?  What  will  now  be  the 
course  of  his  revenge?''' 

"There  is  a  strange  secrecy  in  his  nature/'  replied  Hester, 
thoughtfully ;  "  and  it  has  grown  upon  him  by  the  hidden  prac- 
tices of  his  revenge.  I  deem  it  not  likely  that  he  will  betray 
the  secret.  He  will  doubtless  seek  other  means  of  satiating  his 
dark  passion." 

"  And  I !  —  how  am  I  to  live  longer,  breathing  the  same 
air  with  this  deadly  enemy?"  exclaimed  Arthur  Dimmesdale, 
shrinking  within  himself,  and  pressing  his  hand  nervously  against 
his    heart,  —  a  gesture   that   had   grown   involuntary  with   him. 

"  Think  for  me,  Hester !    Thou  art  strong.    Eesolve  for  me  ! " 

"Thou  must  dwell  no  longer  with  this  man,"  said  Hester, 
slowly  and  firmly.  "Thy  heart  must  be  no  longer  under  his 
evil  eye ! " 

"  It  were  far  worse  than  death ! "  replied  the  minister.  "  But 
how  to  avoid  it?  What  choice  remains  to  me?  Shall  I  lie 
down  again  on  these  withered  leaves,  where  I  cast  myself  when 
thou  didst  tell  me  what  he  was  ?  Must  I  sink  down  there,  and 
die  at  once  ?  " 

"  Alas,  what  a  ruin  has  befallen  thee ! "  said  Hester,  with  the 
tears  gushing  into  her  eyes.  "Wilt  thou  die  for  very  weak- 
ness ?     There  is  no  other  cause  ! " 

"The  judgment  of  God  is  on  me,"  answered  the  conscience- 
stricken  priest.     "  It  is  too  mighty  for  me  to  struggle  with ! " 

"  Heaven  would  show  mercy,"  rejoined  Hester,  "  hadst  thou 
but  the  strength  to  take  advantage  of  it." 


242  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"  Be  thou  strong  for  me  ! n  answered  he.  "  Advise  me  what 
to  do." 

"  Is  the  world,  then,  so  narrow  ?  n  exclaimed  Hester  Prynne, 
fixing  her  deep  eyes  on  the  minister's,  and  instinctively  exer- 
cising a  magnetic  power  over  a  spirit  so  shattered  and  subdued 
that  it  could  hardly  hold  itself  erect.  "  Doth  the  universe  lie 
within  the  compass  of  yonder  town,  which  only  a  little  time 
ago  was  but  a  leaf-strewn  desert,  as  lonely  as  this  around  us  ? 
Whither  leads  yonder  forest-track  ?  Backward  to  the  settlement, 
thou  sayest !  Yes ;  but  onward,  too.  Deeper  it  goes,  and 
deeper,  into  the  wilderness,  less  plainly  to  be  seen  at  every  step; 
until,  some  few  miles  hence,  the  yellow  leaves  will  show  no 
vestige  of  the  white  man's  tread.  There  thou  art  free !  So 
brief  a  journey  would  bring  thee  from  a  world  where  thou  hast 
been  most  wretched,  to  one  where  thou  mayest  still  be  happy ! 
Is  there  not  shade  enough  in  all  this  boundless  forest  to  hide 
thy  heart  from  the  gaze  of  Roger  Chillingworth  ?  *' 

"  Yes,  Hester ;  but  only  under  the  fallen  leaves  !  "  replied  the 
minister,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Then  there  is  the  broad  pathway  of  the  sea  ! "  continued 
Hester.  "  It  brought  thee  hither.  If  thou  so  choose,  it  will 
bear  thee  back  again.  In  our  native  land,  whether  in  some 
remote  rural  village  or  in  vast  London, — or,  surely,  in  Germany, 
in  France,  in  pleasant  Italy, — thou  wouldst  be  beyond  his  power 
and  knowledge!  And  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  all  these  iron 
men,  and  their  opinions?  They  have  kept  thy  better  part  in 
bondage  too  long  already  !  " 

"  It  cannot  be  !  M  answered  the  minister,  listening  as  if  he 
were  called  upon  to  realize  a  dream.  "  I  am  powerless  to  go ! 
Wretched   and    sinful  as  I  am,  I   have   had   no   other   thought 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS   PARISHIONER.         243 

than  to  drag  on  my  earthly  existence  in  the  sphere  where  Provi- 
dence hath  placed  me.  Lost  as  my  own  soul  is,  I  would  still 
do  what  I  may  for  other  human  souls !  I  dare  not  quit  my 
post,  though  an  unfaithful  sentinel,  whose  sure  reward  is  death 
and  dishonor,  when  his  dreary  watch  shall  come  to  an  end ! " 

"  Thou  art  crushed  under  this  seven  years'  weight  of  misery," 
replied  Hester,  fervently  resolved  to  buoy  him  up  with  her  own 
energy.  "  But  thou  shalt  leave  it  all  behind  thee  !  It  shall  not 
cumber  thy  steps,  as  thou  treadest  along  the  forest-path ;  neither 
shalt  thou  freight  the  ship  with  it,  if  thou  prefer  to  cross  the 
sea.  Leave  this  wreck  and  ruin  here  where  it  hath  happened. 
Meddle  no  more  with  it !  Begin  all  anew  !  Hast  thou  exhausted 
possibility  in  the  failure  of  this  one  trial  ?  Not  so !  The  future 
is  yet  full  of  trial  and  success.  There  is  happiness  to  be  enjoyed ! 
There  is  good  to  be  done  !  Exchange  this  false  life  of  thine  for 
a  true  one.  Be,  if  thy  spirit  summon  thee  to  such  a  mission, 
the  teacher  and  apostle  of  the  red  men.  Or,  —  as  is  more  thy 
nature,  —  be  a  scholar  and  a  sage  among  the  wisest  and  the 
most  renowned  of  the  cultivated  world.  Preach  !  "Write  !  Act ! 
Do  anything,  save  to  lie  down  and  die !  Give  up  this  name  of 
Arthur  Dimmesdale,  and  make  thyself  another,  and  a  high  one, 
such  as  thou  canst  wear  without  fear  or  shame.  Why  shouldst 
thou  tarry  so  much  as  one  other  day  in  the  torments  that  have 
so  gnawed  into  thy  life !  —  that  have  made  thee  feeble  to  will 
and  to  do  !  —  that  will  leave  thee  powerless  even  to  repent ! 
Up,  and  away  !  " 

"  O  Hester !  "  cried  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  in  whose  eyes  a  fit- 
ful light,  kindled  by  her  enthusiasm,  flashed  up  and  died  away, 
"thou  tellest  of  running  a  race  to  a  man  whose  knees  are  tot- 
tering   beneath    him !      I    must    die    here !      There    is   not    the 


244 


THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 


strength  or  courage  left  me  to  venture  into  the  wide,  strange, 
difficult  world,  alone  !  " 

It  was  the  last  expression  of  the  despondency  of  a  broken 
spirit.  He  lacked  energy  to  grasp  the  better  fortune  that  seemed 
within  his  reach. 

He  repeated  the  word. 

"Alone,  Hester!" 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go  alone  !  "  answered  she,  in  a  deep  whisper. 

Then,  all  was  spoken  ! 


XYIIL 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE. 


IRTHUR  DIMMESDALE  gazed  into  Hester's 
face  with  a  look  in  which  hope  and  joy 
shone  out,  indeed,  but  with  fear  betwixt 
them,  and  a  kind  of  horror  at  her  boldness, 
who  had  spoken  what  he  vaguely  hinted  at, 
but  dared  not  speak. 
But  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  mind  of  native  courage  and  activity, 
and  for  so  long  a  period  not  merely  estranged,  but  outlawed, 
from  society,  had  habituated  herself  to  such  latitude  of  speculation 
as  was  altogether  foreign  to  the  clergyman.  She  had  wandered, 
without  rule  or  guidance,  in  a  moral  wilderness;  as  vast,  as  in- 
tricate and  shadowy,  as  the  untamed  forest,  amid  the  gloom  of 
which  they  were  now  holding  a  colloquy  that  was  to  decide 
their  fate.  Her  intellect  and  heart  had  their  home,  as  it  were, 
in  desert  places,  where  she  roamed  as  freely  as  the  wild  Indian 
in  his  woods.  For  years  past  she  had  looked  from  this  estranged 
point  of  view  at  human  institutions,  and  whatever  priests  or  legis- 
lators had  established ;  criticising  all  with  hardly  more  reverence 


•246  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

than  the  Indian  would  fesl  for  the  clerical  band,  the  judicial 
robe,  the  pillory,  the  gallows,  the  fireside,  or  the  church.  The 
tendency  of  her  fate  and  fortunes  had  been  to  set  her  free.  The 
scarlet  letter  was  her  passport  into  regions  where  other  women 
dared  not  tread.  Shame,  Despair,  Solitude  !  These  had  been 
her  teachers,  —  stern  and  wild  ones,  —  and  they  had  made  her 
strong,  but  taught  her  much  amiss. 

The  minister,  on  the  other  hand,  had  never  gone  through  an 
experience  calculated  to  lead  him  beyond  the  scope  of  generally 
received  laws;  although,  in  a  single  instance,  he  had  so  fear- 
fully transgressed  one  of  the  most  sacred  of  them.  But  this 
had  been  a  sin  of  passion,  not  of  principle,  nor  even  purpose. 
Since  that  wretched  epoch,  he  had  watched,  with  morbid  zeal 
and  minuteness,  not  his  acts,  —  for  those  it  was  easy  to  arrange, 
—  but  each  breath  of  emotion,  and  his  every  thought.  At  the 
head  of  the  social  system,  as  the  clergymen  of  that  day  stood, 
he  was  only  the  more  trammelled  by  its  regulations,  its  prin- 
ciples, and  even  its  prejudices.  As  a  priest,  the  framework  of 
his  order  inevitably  hemmed  him  in.  As  a  man  who  had  once 
sinned,  but  who  kept  his  conscience  all  alive  and  painfully  sensi- 
tive by  the  fretting  of  an  unhealed  wound,  he  might  have  been 
supposed  safer  within  the  line  of  virtue  than  if  he  had  never 
sinned  at  all. 

Thus,  we  seem  to  see  that,  as  regarded  Hester  Prynne,  the 
whole  seven  years  of  outlaw  and  ignominy  had  been  little  other 
than  a  preparation  for  this  very  hour.  But  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale !  Were  such  a  man  once  more  to  fall,  what  plea  could 
be  urged  in  extenuation  of  his  crime?  None;  unless  it  avail 
him  somewhat,  that  he  was  broken  down  by  long  and  exquisite 
suffering ;  that  his  mind  was  darkened  and  confused  by  the  very 


A   FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  247 

remorse  which  harrowed  it ;  that,  between  fleeing  as  an  avowed 
criminal,  and  remaining  as  a  hypocrite,  conscience  might  find 
it  hard  to  strike  the  balance;  that  it  was  human  to  avoid  the 
peril  of  death  and  infamy,  and  the  inscrutable  machinations  of 
an  enemy;  that,  finally,  to  this  poor  pilgrim,  on  his  dreary  and 
desert  path,  faint,  sick,  miserable,  there  appeared  a  glimpse  of 
human  affection  and  sympathy,  a  new  life,  and  a  true  one,  in 
exchange  for  the  heavy  doom  which  he  was  now  expiating.  And 
be  the  stern  and  sad  truth  spoken,  that  the  breach  which  guilt 
has  once  made  into  the  human  soul  is  never,  in  this  mortal 
state,  repaired.  It  may  be  watched  and  guarded ;  so  that  the 
enemy  shall  not  force  his  way  again  into  the  citadel,  and  might 
even,  in  his  subsequent  assaults,  select  some  other  avenue,  in 
preference  to  that  where  he  had  formerly  succeeded.  But  there 
is  still  the  ruined  wall,  and,  near  it,  the  stealthy  tread  of  the 
foe  that  would  win  over  again  his  unforgotten  triumph. 

The  struggle,  if  there  were  one,  need  not  be  described.  Let 
it  suffice,  that  the  clergyman  resolved  to  flee,  and  not  alone. 

"If,  in  all  these  past  seven  years,"  thought  he,  "I  could 
recall  one  instant  of  peace  or  hope,  I  would  yet  endure,  for  the 
sake  of  that  earnest  of  Heaven's  mercy.  But  now,  —  since  I 
am  irrevocably  doomed,  —  wherefore  should  I  not  snatch  the 
solace  allowed  to  the  condemned  culprit  before  his  execution? 
Or,  if  this  be  the  path  to  a  better  life,  as  Hester  would  per- 
suade me,  I  surely  give  up  no  fairer  prospect  by  pursuing  it ! 
Neither  can  I  any  longer  live  without  her  companionship;  so 
powerful  is  she  to  sustain,  —  so  tender  to  soothe !  O  Thou  to 
whom  I  dare  not  lift  mine  eyes,  wilt  Thou  yet  pardon  me ! " 

"  Thou  wilt  go ! "  said  Hester,  calmly,  as  he  met  her  glance. 

The  decision  once  made,  a  glow  of  strange   enjoyment  threw 


248  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

its  flickering  brightness  over  the  trouble  of  his  breast.  It  was 
the  exhilarating  effect  —  upon  a  prisoner  just  escaped  from  the 
dungeon  of  his  own  heart  —  of  breathing  the  wild,  free  atmos- 
phere of  an  unredeemed,  unchristianized,  lawless  region.  His 
spirit  rose,  as  it  were,  with  a  bound,  and  attained  a  nearer  pros- 
pect of  the  sty,  than  throughout  all  the  misery  which  had  kept 
him  grovelling  on  the  earth.  Of  a  deeply  religious  tempera- 
ment, there  was  inevitably  a  tinge  of  the  devotional  in  his 
mood. 

"Do  I  feel  joy  again?"  cried  he,  wondering  at  himself. 
"  Methought  the  germ  of  it  was  dead  hi  me !  O  Hester,  thou 
art  my  better  angel!  I  seem  to  have  flung  myself — sick,  sin- 
stained,  and  sorrow -blackened  —  down  upon  these  forest-leaves, 
and  to  have  risen  up  all  made  anew,  and  with  new  powers  to 
glorify  Him  that  hath  been  merciful !  This  is  already  the  better 
life  !     Why  did  we  not  find  it  sooner  ?  " 

"Let  us  not  look  back,"  answered  Hester  Prynne.  "The 
past  is  gone !  Wherefore  should  we  linger  upon  it  now  ?  See ! 
With  this  symbol,  I  undo  it  all,  and  make  it  as  it  had  never 
been ! " 

So  speaking,  she  undid  the  clasp  that  fastened  the  scarlet  letter, 
and,  taking  it  from  her  bosom,  threw  it  to  a  distance  among  the 
withered  leaves.  The  mystic  token  alighted  on  the  hither  verge 
of  the  stream.  With  a  hand's  breadth  farther  flight  it  would 
have  fallen  into  the  water,  and  have  given  the  little  brook 
another  woe  to  carry  onward,  besides  the  unintelligible  tale  which 
it  still  kept  murmuring  about.  But  there  lay  the  embroidered 
letter,  glittering  like  a  lost  jewel,  which  some  ill-fated  wanderer 
might  pick  up,  and  thenceforth  be  haunted  by  strange  phantoms 
of  guilt,  sinkings  of  the  heart,  and  unaccountable  misfortune. 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  249 

The  stigma  gone,  Hester  heaved  a  long,  deep  sigh,  in  which 
the  burden  of  shame  and  anguish  departed  from  her  spirit.  0 
exquisite  relief!  She  had  not  known  the  weight,  until  she  felt 
the  freedom !     By  another  impulse,  she  took  off  the  formal  cap 


that  confined  her  hair;  and  down  it  fell  upon  her  shoulders, 
dark  and  rich,  with  at  once  a  shadow  and  a  light  in  its  abundance, 
and  imparting  the  charm  of  softness  to  her  features.  There 
played  around  her  mouth,  and  beamed  out  of  her  eyes,  a  radiant 
and  tender  smile,  that  seemed  gushing  from  the  very  heart  of 


250         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

womanhood.  A  crimson  flush  was  glowing  on  her  cheek,  that 
had  been  long  so  pale.  Her  sex,  her  youth,  and  the  whole  rich- 
ness of  her  beauty,  came  back  from  what  men  call  the  irrevocable 
past,  and  clustered  themselves,  with  her  maiden  hope,  and  a 
happiness  before  unknown,  within  the  magic  circle  of  this  hour. 
And,  as  if  the  gloom  of  the  earth  and  sky  had  been  but  the 
effluence  of  these  two  mortal  hearts,  it  vanished  with  their  sorrow. 
All  at  once,  as  with  a  sudden  smile  of  heaven,  forth  burst  the 
sunshine,  pouring  a  very  flood  into  the  obscure  forest,  gladdening 
each  green  leaf,  transmuting  the  yellow  fallen  ones  to  gold,  and 
gleaming  adown  the  gray  trunks  of  the  solemn  trees.  The  objects 
that  had  made  a  shadow  hitherto,  embodied  the  brightness  now. 
The  course  of  the  little  brook  might  be  traced  by  its  merry  gleam 
afar  into  the  wood's  heart  of  mystery,  which  had  become  a  mys- 
tery of  joy. 

Such  was  the  sympathy  of  Nature  —  that  wild,  heathen  Nature 
of  the  forest,  never  subjugated  by  human  law,  nor  illumined  by 
higher  truth  —  with  the  bliss  of  these  two  spirits  !  Love,  whether 
newly  born,  or  aroused  from  a  death-like  slumber,  must  always 
create  a  sunshine,  filling  the  heart  so  full  of  radiance,  that  it 
overflows  upon  the  outward  world.  Had  the  forest  still  kept 
its  gloom,  it  would  have  been  bright  in  Hester's  eyes,  and 
bright  in  Arthur  Dimmesdale's ! 

Hester  looked  at  him  with  the  thrill  of  another  joy. 

"  Thou  must  know  Pearl !  "  said  she.  *'  Our  little  Pearl ! 
Thou  hast  seen  her,  —  yes,  I  know  it !  —  but  thou  wilt  see  her 
now  with  other  eyes.  She  is  a  strange  child !  I  hardly  compre- 
hend her!  But  thou  wilt  love  her  dearly,  as  I  do,  and  wilt 
advise  me  how  to  deal  with  her." 

"Dost   thou    think   the    child    will    be    glad    to    know  me?" 


A   FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  251 

asked  the  minister,  somewhat  uneasily.  "I  have  long  shrunk 
from  children,  because  they  often  show  a  distrust,  —  a  back- 
wardness to  be  familiar  with  me.  I  have  even  been  afraid  of 
little  Pearl  !" 

"  Ah,  that  was  sad !  "  answered  the  mother.  "  But  she  will 
love  thee  dearly,  and  thou  her.  She  is  not  far  off.  I  will  call 
her !     Pearl !     Pearl ! " 

"I  see  the  child/'  observed  the  minister.  "Yonder  she  is, 
standing  in  a  streak  of  sunshine,  a  good  way  off,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  brook.     So  thou  thinkest  the  child  will  love  me  ?  ** 

Hester  smiled,  and  again  called  to  Pearl,  who  was  visible,  at 
some  distance,  as  the  minister  had  described  her,  like  a  bright- 
apparelled  vision,  in  a  sunbeam,  which  fell  down  upon  her 
through  an  arch  of  boughs.  The  ray  quivered  to  and  fro,  mak- 
ing her  figure  dim  or  distinct,  —  now  like  a  real  child,  now  like 
a  child's  spirit,  —  as  the  splendor  went  and  came  again.  She 
heard  her  mother's  voice,  and  approached  slowly  through  the 
forest. 

Pearl  had  not  found  the  hour  pass  wearisomely,  while  her 
mother  sat  talking  with  the  clergyman.  The  great  black  forest 
—  stern  as  it  showed  itself  to  those  who  brought  the  guilt  and 
troubles  of  the  world  into  its  bosom  —  became  the  playmate  of 
the  lonely  infant,  as  well  as  it  knew  how.  Sombre  as  it  was, 
it  put  on  the  kindest  of  its  moods  to  welcome  her.  It  offered 
her  the  partridge-berries,  the  growth  of  the  preceding  autumn, 
but  ripening  only  in  the  spring,  and  now  red  as  drops  of  blood 
upon  the  withered  leaves.  These  Pearl  gathered,  and  was  pleased 
with  their  wild  flavor.  The  small  denizens  of  the  wilderness 
hardly  took  pains  to  move  out  of  her  path.  A  partridge,  indeed, 
with  a  brood  of   ten  behind    her,  ran  forward  threateningly,  but 


252  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

Soon  repented  of  her  fierceness,  and  clucked  to  her  young  ones 
not  to  be  afraid.  A  pigeon,  alone  on  a  low  branch,  allowed 
Pearl  to  come  beneath,  and  uttered  a  sound  as  much  of  greeting 
as  alarm.  A  squirrel,  from  the  lofty  depths  of  his  domestic 
tree,  chattered  either  in  anger  or  merriment,  —  for  a  squirrel  is 
such  a  choleric  and  humorous  little  personage,  that  it  is  hard  to 
distinguish  between  his  moods,  —  so  he  chattered  at  the  child,  and 
flung  down  a  nut  upon  her  head.  It  was  a  last  year's  nut, 
and  already  gnawed  by  his  sharp  tooth.  A  fox,  startled'  from 
his  sleep  by  her  light  footstep  on  the  leaves,  looked  inquisitively 
at  Pearl,  as  doubting  whether  it  were  better  to  steal  off,  or 
renew  his  nap  on  the  same  spot.  A  wolf,  it  is  said,  —  but  here 
the  tale  has  surely  lapsed  into  the  improbable,  —  came  up,  and 
smelt  of  Pearl's  robe,  and  offered  his  savage  head  to  be  patted 
by  her  hand.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that  the  mother- 
forest,  and  these  wild  things  which  it  nourished,  all  recognized 
a  kindred  wildness  in  the  human  child. 

And  she  was  gentler  here  than  in  the  grassy-margined  streets 
of  the  settlement,  or  in  her  mother's  cottage.  The  flowers 
appeared  to  know  it ;  and  one  and  another  whispered  as  she 
passed,  "Adorn  thyself  with  me,  thou  beautiful  child,  adorn 
thyself  with  me ! "  —  and,  to  please  them,  Pearl  gathered  the 
violets,  and  anemones,  and  columbines,  and  some  twigs  of  the 
freshest  green,  which  the  old  trees  held  down  before  her  eyes. 
With  these  she  decorated  her  hair,  and  her  young  waist,  and 
became  a  nymph-child,  or  an  infant  dryad,  or  whatever  else  was 
in  closest  sympathy  with  the  antique  wood.  In  such  guise  had 
Pearl  adorned  herself,  when  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and 
came  slowly  back. 

Slowly;    for  she  saw  the  clergyman. 


XIX. 


THE    CHILD   AT    THE    BROOK-SIDE. 


HOU  wilt  love  her  dearly,"  repeated  Hester 
Prynne,  as  she  and  the  minister  sat  watch- 
ing little  Pearl.  "  Dost  thou  not  think  her 
beautiful  ?  And  see  with  what  natural 
skill  she  has  made  those  simple  flowers 
adorn  her!  Had  she  gathered  pearls,  and 
diamonds,  and  rubies,  in  the  wood,  they  could  not  have  become 
her  better.  She  is  a  splendid  child !  But  I  know  whose  brow 
she  has ! " 

"  Dost  thou  know,  Hester/'  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  with 
an  unquiet  smile,  "that  this  dear  child,  tripping  about  always 
at  thy  side,  hath  caused  me  many  an  alarm?  Methought —  O 
Hester,  what  a  thought  is  that,  and  how  terrible  to  dread  it !  — 
that  my  own  features  were  partly  repeated  in  her  face,  and  so 
strikingly  that  the  world  might  see  them  !  But  she  is  mostly 
thine!" 

"  No,  no  !  Not  mostly  !  "  answered  the  mother,  with  a  ten- 
der smile.  "A  little  longer,  and  thou  needest  not  to  be  afraid 
to  trace  whose  child   she  is.     But  how   strangely   beautiful   she 


254  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

looks,  with  those  wild-flowers  in  her  hair !  It  is  as  if  one  of 
the  fairies,  whom  we  left  in  our  dear  old  England,  had  decked 
her  out  to  meet  us/' 

It  was  with  a  feeling  which  neither  of  them  had  ever  before 
experienced,  that  they  sat  and  watched  Pearl's  slow  advance. 
In  her  was  visible  the  tie  that  united  them.  She  had  been 
offered  to  the  world,  these  seven  years  past,  as  the  living  hiero- 
glyphic, in  which  was  revealed  the  secret  they  so  darkly  sought 
to  hide,  —  all  written  in  this  symbol,  —  all  plainly  manifest,  — 
had  there  been  a  prophet  or  magician  skilled  to  read  the  char- 
acter of  flame !  And  Pearl  was  the  oneness  of  their  being.  Be 
the  foregone  evil  what  it  might,  how  could  they  doubt  that 
their  earthly  lives  and  future  destinies  were  conjoined,  when 
they  beheld  at  once  the  material  union,  and  the  spiritual  idea, 
in  whom  they  met,  and  were  to  dwell  immortally  together? 
Thoughts  like  these  —  and  perhaps  other  thoughts,  which  they 
did  not  acknowledge  or  define  —  threw  an  awe  about  the  child, 
as  she  came  onward. 

"  Let  her  see  nothing  strange  —  no  passion  nor  eagerness  — 
in  thy  way  of  accosting  her/'  whispered  Hester.  "Our  Pearl 
is  a  fitful  and  fantastic  little  elf,  sometimes.  Especially,  she  is 
seldom  tolerant  of  emotion,  when  she  does  not  fully  comprehend 
the  why  and  wherefore.  But  the  child  hath  strong  affections ! 
She  loves  me,  and  will  love  thee ! " 

"Thou  canst  not  think/'  said  the  minister,  glancing  aside 
at  Hester  Prynne,  "how  my  heart  dreads  this  interview,  and 
yearns  for  it!  But,  in  truth,  as  I  already  told  thee,  children 
are  not  readily  won  to  be  familiar  with  me.  They  will  not 
climb  my  knee,  nor  prattle  in  my  ear,  nor  answer  to  my  smile ; 
but  stand  apart,  and  eye  me  strangely.     Even  little  babes,  when 


THE    CHILD    AT   THE    BROOK-SIDE.  255 

I  take  them  in  my  arms,  weep  bitterly.  Yet  Pearl,  twice  in 
her  little  lifetime,  hath  been  kind  to  me !  The  first  time,  — 
thou  knowest  it  well !  The  last  was  when  thou  ledst  her  with 
thee  to  the  house  of  yonder  stern  old  Governor." 

"  And  thou  didst  plead  so  bravely  in  her  behalf  and  mine ! " 
answered  the  mother.  "I  remember  it;  and  so  shall  little 
Pearl.  Pear  nothing !  She  may  be  strange  and  shy  at  first, 
but  will  soon  learn  to  love  thee ! " 

By  this  time  Pearl  had  reached  the  margin  of  the  brook,  and 
stood  on  the  farther  side,  gazing  silently  at  Hester  and  the 
clergyman,  who  still  sat  together  on  the  mossy  tree-trunk,  wait- 
ing to  receive  her.  Just  where  she  had  paused,  the  brook 
chanced  to  form  a  pool,  so  smooth  and  quiet  that  it  reflected 
a  perfect  image  of  her  little  figure,  with  all  the  brilliant  pictu- 
resqueness  of  her  beauty,  in  its  adornment  of  flowers  and  wreathed 
foliage,  but  more  refined  and  spiritualized  than  the  reality.  This 
image,  so  nearly  identical  with  the  living  Pearl,  seemed  to  com- 
municate somewhat  of  its  own  shadowy  and  intangible  quality 
to  the  child  herself.  It  was  strange,  the  way  in  which  Pearl 
stood,  looking  so  steadfastly  at  them  through  the  dim  medium 
of  the  forest-gloom ;  herself,  meanwhile,  all  glorified  with  a  ray 
of  sunshine,  that  was  attracted  thitherward  as  by  a  certain  sym- 
pathy. In  the  brook  beneath  stood  another  child,  —  another 
and  the  same,  —  with  likewise  its  ray  of  golden  light.  Hester 
felt  herself,  in  some  indistinct  and  tantalizing  manner,  estranged 
from  Pearl;  as  if  the  child,  in  her  lonely  ramble  through  the 
forest,  had  strayed  out  of  the  sphere  in  which  she  and  her 
mother  dwelt  together,  and  was  now  vainly  seeking  to  return 
to  it. 

There  was  both  truth  and  error  in  the  impression;   the  child 


256  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

and  mother  were  estranged,  but  through  Hester's  fault,  not 
Pearl's.  Since  the  latter  rambled  from  her  side,  another  inmate 
had  been  admitted  within  the  circle  of  the  mother's  feelings, 
and  so  modified  the  aspect  of  them  all,  that  Pearl,  the  returning 
wanderer,  could  not  find  her  wonted  place,  and  hardly  knew 
where  she  was. 

"  I  have  a  strange  fancy,"  observed  the  sensitive  minister, 
"  that  this  brook  is  the  boundary  between  two  worlds,  and  that 
thou  canst  never  meet  thy  Pearl  again.  Or  is  she  an  elfish 
spirit,  who,  as  the  legends  of  our  childhood  taught  us,  is  for- 
bidden to  cross  a  running  stream  ?  Pray  hasten  her ;  for  this 
delay  has  already  imparted  a  tremor  to  my  nerves." 

"Come,  dearest  child  !  "  said  Hester,  encouragingly,  and  stretch- 
ing out  both  her  arms.  "  How  slow  thou  art !  When  hast 
thou  been  so  sluggish  before  now?  Here  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
who  must  be  thy  friend  also.  Thou  wilt  have  twice  as  much 
love,  henceforward,  as  thy  mother  alone  could  give  thee  !  Leap 
across  the  brook,  and  come  to  us.  Thou  canst  leap  like  a 
young  deer  ! " 

Pearl,  without  responding  in  any  manner  to  these  honey-sweet 
expressions,  remained  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook.  Now  she 
fixed  her  bright,  wild  eyes  on  her  mother,  now  on  the  minister, 
and  now  included  them  both  in  the  same  glance;  as  if  to  detect 
and  explain  to  herself  the  relation  which  they  bore  to  one 
another.  For  some  unaccountable  reason,  as  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale  felt  the  child's  eyes  upon  himself,  his  hand  —  with  that 
gesture  so  habitual  as  to  have  become  involuntary — stole  over 
his  heart.  At  length,  assuming  a  singular  air  of  authority, 
Pearl  stretched  out  her  hand,  with  the  small  forefinger  extended, 
and     pointing     evidently    towards    her    mother's    breast.      And 


THE    CHILD    AT    THE   BROOK-SIDE.  259 

beneath,  in  the  mirror  of  the  brook,  there  was  the  flower- 
girdled  and  sunny  image  of  little  Pearl,  pointing  her  small  fore- 
finger too. 

"  Thou  strange  child,  why  dost  thou  not  come  to  me  ? "  ex- 
claimed Hester. 

Pearl  still  pointed  with  her  forefinger;  and  a  frown  gathered 
on  her  brow ;  the  more  impressive  from  the  childish,  the  almost 
baby-like  aspect  of  the  features  that  conveyed  it.  As  her  mother 
still  kept  beckoning  to  her,  and  arraying  her  face  in  a  holiday 
suit  of  unaccustomed  smiles,  the  child  stamped  her  foot  with  a 
yet  more  imperious  look  and  gesture.  In  the  brook,  again,  was 
the  fantastic  beauty  of  the  image,  with  its  reflected  frown,  its 
pointed  finger,  and  imperious  gesture,  giving  emphasis  to  the 
aspect  of  little  Pearl. 

"  Hasten,  Pearl ;  or  I  shall  be  angry  with  thee ! "  cried 
Hester  Prynne,  who,  however  inured  to  such  behavior  on 
the  elf-child's  part  at  other  seasons,  was  naturally  anxious 
for  a  more  seemly  deportment  now.  "  Leap  across  the 
brook,  naughty  child,  and  run  hither  !  Else  I  must  come  to 
thee ! " 

But  Pearl,  not  a  whit  startled  at  her  mother's  threats,  any 
more  than  mollified  by  her  entreaties,  now  suddenly  burst  into 
a  fit  of  passion,  gesticulating  violently,  and  throwing  her  small 
figure  into  the  most  extravagant  contortions.  She  accompanied 
this  wild  outbreak  with  piercing  shrieks,  which  the  woods  rever- 
berated on  all  sides;  so  that,  alone  as  she  was  in  her  childish 
and  unreasonable  wrath,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hidden  multitude  were 
lending  her  their  sympathy  and  encouragement.  Seen  in  the 
brook,  once  more,  was  the  shadowy  wrath  of  Pearl's  image, 
crowned  and    girdled  with  flowers,  but  stamping  its  foot,  wildly 


2G0  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

gesticulating,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all,  still  pointing  its  small 
forefinger  at  Hester's  bosom ! 

"I  see  what  ails  the  child,"  whispered  Hester  to  the  clergy- 
man, and  turning  pale  in  spite  of  a  strong  effort  to  conceal  her 
trouble  and  annoyance.  "  Children  will  not  abide  any,  the 
slightest,  change  in  the  accustomed  aspect  of  things  that  are 
daily  before  their  eyes.  Pearl  misses  something  which  she  has 
always  seen  me  wear!" 

"I  pray  you,"  answered  the  minister,  "if  thou  hast  any 
means  of  pacifying  the  child,  do  it  forthwith !  Save  it  were  the 
cankered  wrath  of  an  old  witch,  like  Mistress  Hibbins,"  added 
he,  attempting  to  smile,  "I  know  nothing  that  I  would  not 
sooner  encounter  than  this  passion  in  a  child.  In  Pearl's  young 
beauty,  as  in  the  wrinkled  witch,  it  has  a  preternatural  effect. 
Pacify  her,  if  thou  lovest  me!" 

Hester  turned  again  towards  Pearl,  with  a  crimson  blush  upon 
her  cheek,  a  conscious  glance  aside  at  the  clergyman,  and  then  a 
heavy  sigh;  while,  even  before  she  had  time  to  speak,  the  blush 
yielded  to  a  deadly  pallor. 

"  Pearl,"  said  she,  sadly,  "  look  down  at  thy  feet !  There  !  — 
before  thee  !  —  on  the  hither  side  of  the  brook  !  " 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  to  the  point  indicated;  and  there 
lay  the  scarlet  letter,  so  close  upon  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
that  the  gold  embroidery  was  reflected  in  it. 

"  Bring  it  hither  ! "  said  Hester. 

"Come  thou  and  take  it  up!"  answered  Pearl. 

"Was  ever  such  a  child!"  observed  Hester,  aside  to  the 
minister.  "O,  I  have  much  to  tell  thee  about  her!  But,  in 
very  truth,  she  is  right  as  regards  this  hateful  token.  I  must 
bear  its  torture  yet  a  little  longer,  —  only  a  few  days  longer,  — 


THE    CHILD    AT    THE   BROOK-SIDE.  261 

until  we  shall  have  left  this  region,  and  look  back  hither  as 
to  a  land  which  we  have  dreamed  of.  The  forest  cannot  hide 
it!  The  mid-ocean  shall  take  it  from  my  hand,  and  swallow  it 
up  forever ! " 

"With  these  words,  she  advanced  to  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
took  up  the  scarlet  letter,  and  fastened  it  again  into  her  bosom. 
Hopefully,  but  a  moment  ago,  as  Hester  had  spoken  of  drown- 
ing it  in  the  deep  sea,  there  was  a  sense  of  inevitable  doom 
upon  her,  as  she  thus  received  back  this  deadly  symbol  from 
the  hand  of  fate.  She  had  flung  it  into  infinite  space !  —  she 
had  drawn  an  hour's  free  breath !  —  and  here  again  was  the 
scarlet  misery,  glittering  on  the  old  spot !  So  it  ever  is,  whether 
thus  typified  or  no,  that  an  evil  deed  invests  itself  with  the 
character  of  doom.  Hester  next  gathered  up  the  heavy  tresses 
of  her  hair,  and  confined  them  beneath  her  cap.  As  if  there 
were  a  withering  spell  in  the  sad  letter,  her  beauty,  the  warmth 
and  richness  of  her  womanhood,  departed,  like  fading  sunshine; 
and  a  gray  shadow  seemed  to  fall  across  her. 

When  the  dreary  change  was  wrought,  she  extended  her  hand 
to  Pearl. 

"Dost  thou  know  thy  mother  now,  child?"  asked  she,  re- 
proachfully, but  with  a  subdued  tone.  "  Wilt  thou  come  across 
the  brook,  and  own  thy  mother,  now  that  she  has  her  shame 
upon  her,  —  now  that  she  is  sad?" 

"  Yes ;  now  I  will ! "  answered  the  child,  bounding  across 
the  brook,  and  clasping  Hester  in  her  arms.  "Now  thou  art 
my  mother  indeed !     And  I  am  thy  little  Pearl ! " 

In  a  mood  of  tenderness  that  was  not  usual  with  her,  she 
drew  down  her  mother's  head,  and  kissed  her  brow  and  both 
her  cheeks.     But  then  —  by  a  kind  of  necessity  that  always  im- 


262  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

pelled  this  child  to  alloy  whatever  comfort  she  might  chance  to 
give  with  a  throb  of  anguish  —  Pearl  put  up  her  mouth,  and 
kissed  the  scarlet  letter  too!" 

"  That  was  not  kind  ! "  said  Hester.  "  When  thou  hast  shown 
me  a  little  love,  thou  mockest  me ! " 

"Why  doth  the  minister  sit  yonder?"  asked  Pearl. 

"He  waits  to  welcome  thee,"  replied  her  mother.  "Come 
thou,  and  entreat  his  blessing!  He  loves  thee,  my  little  Pearl, 
and  loves  thy  mother  too.  Wilt  thou  not  love  him  ?  Come ! 
he  longs  to  greet  thee!" 

"  Doth  he  love  us  ? "  said  Pearl,  looking  up,  with  acute 
intelligence,  into  her  mother's  face.  "Will  he  go  back  with 
us,  hand  in  hand,  we  three  together,  into  the  town?" 

"Not  now,  dear  child,"  answered  Hester.  "But  in  days  to 
come  he  will  walk  hand  in  hand  with  us.  We  will  have  a 
home  and  fireside  of  our  own ;  and  thou  shalt  sit  upon  his 
knee ;  and  he  will  teach  thee  many  things,  and  love  thee  dearly. 
Thou  wilt  love  him;   wilt  thou  not?" 

"And  will  he  always  keep  his  hand  over  his  heart?"  in- 
quired Pearl. 

"  Foolish  child,  what  a  question  is  that ! "  exclaimed  her 
mother.     "Come  and  ask  his  blessing!" 

But,  whether  influenced  by  the  jealousy  that  seems  instinctive 
with  every  petted  child  towards  a  dangerous  rival,  or  from  what- 
ever caprice  of  her  freakish  nature,  Pearl  would  show  no  favor 
to  the  clergyman.  It  was  only  by  an  exertion  of  force  that 
her  mother  brought  her  up  to  him,  hanging  back,  and  manifest- 
ing her  reluctance  by  odd  grimaces ;  of  which,  ever  since  her 
babyhood,  she  had  possessed  a  singular  variety,  and  could  trans- 
form her  mobile  physiognomy  into  a  series  of  different  aspects, 


THE    CHILD   AT   THE   BROOK-SIDE.  263 

with  a  new  mischief  in  them,  each  and  all.  The  minister  — 
painfully  embarrassed,  but  hoping  that  a  kiss  might  prove  a 
talisman  to  admit  him  into  the  child's  kindlier  regards  —  bent 
forward,  and  impressed  one  on  her  brow.  Hereupon,  Pearl 
broke  away  from  her  mother,  and,  running  to  the  brook,  stooped 
over  it,  and  bathed  her  forehead,  until  the  unwelcome  kiss  was 
quite  washed  off,  and  diffused  through  a  long  lapse  of  the  glid- 
ing water.  She  then  remained  apart,  silently  watching  Hester 
and  the  clergyman ;  while  they  talked  together,  and  made  such 
arrangements  as  were  suggested  by  their  new  position,  and  the 
purposes  soon  to  be  fulfilled. 

And  now  this  fateful  interview  had  come  to  a  close.  The 
dell  was  to  be  left  a  solitude  among  its  dark,  old  trees,  which, 
with  their  multitudinous  tongues,  would  whisper  long  of  what 
had  passed  there,  and  no  mortal  be  the  wiser.  And  the  melan- 
choly brook  would  add  this  other  tale  to  the  mystery  with 
which  its  little  heart  was  already  overburdened,  and  whereof  it 
still  kept  up  a  murmuring  babble,  with  not  a  whit  more  cheer- 
fulness of  tone  than  for  ages  heretofore. 


XX. 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE. 


IS  the  minister  departed,  in  advance  of  Hester 
Prynne  and  little  Pearl,  he  threw  a  back- 
ward glance;  half  expecting  that  he  should 
discover  only  some  faintly  traced  features  or 
outline  of  the  mother  and  the  child,  slowly 
fading  into  the  twilight  of  the  woods.  So 
great  a  vicissitude  in  his  life  could  not  at  once  be  received  as 
real.  But  there  was  Hester,  clad  in  her  gray  robe,  still  standing 
beside  the  tree-trunk,  which  some  blast  had  overthrown  a  long 
antiquity  ago,  and  which  time  had  ever  since  been  covering 
with  moss,  so  that  these  two  fated  ones,  with  earth's  heaviest 
burden  on  them,  might  there  sit  down  together,  and  find  a  single 
hour's  rest  and  solace.  And  there  was  Pearl,  too,  lightly  dancing 
from  the  margin  of  the  brook,  —  now  that  the  intrusive  third 
person  was  gone,  —  and  taking  her  old  place  by  her  mother's 
side.     So  the  minister  had  not  fallen  asleep  and  dreamed! 

In  order  to  free  his  mind  from  this  indistinctness  and  duplicity 
of  impression,  which  vexed  it  with  a  strange  disquietude,  he 
recalled  and   more   thoroughly   defined  the   plans   which   Hester 


THE    MINISTER   IN    A   MAZE.  265 

and  himself  had  sketched  for  their  departure.  It  had  been  deter- 
mined between  them,  that  the  Old  World,  with  its  crowds  and 
cities,  offered  them  a  more  eligible  shelter  and  concealment  than 
the  wilds  of  New  England,  or  all  America,  with  its  alternatives 
of  an  Indian  wigwam,  or  the  few  settlements  of  Europeans, 
scattered  thinly  along  the  seaboard.  Not  to  speak  of  the  clergy- 
man's health,  so  inadequate  to  sustain  the  hardships  of  a  forest 
life,  his  native  gifts,  his  culture,  aud  his  entire  development, 
would  secure  him  a  home  only  in  the  midst  of  civilization  and 
refinement;  the  higher  the  state,  the  more  delicately  adapted 
to  it  the  man.  In  furtherance  of  this  choice,  it  so  happened 
that  a  ship  lay  in  the  harbor;  one  of  those  questionable  cruis- 
ers, frequent  at  that  day,  which,  without  being  absolutely  outlaws 
of  the  deep,  yet  roamed  over  its  surface  with  a  remarkable  irre- 
sponsibility of  character.  This  vessel  had  recently  arrived  from 
the  Spanish  Main,  and,  within  three  days'  time,  would  sail  for 
Bristol.  Hester  Prynne  —  whose  vocation,  as  a  self-enlisted 
Sister  of  Charity,  had  brought  her  acquainted  with  the  captain 
and  crew  —  could  take  upon  herself  to  secure  the  passage  of 
two  individuals  and  a  child,  with  all  the  secrecy  which  circum- 
stances rendered  more  than  desirable. 

The  minister  had  inquired  of  Hester,  with  no  little  interest, 
the  precise  time  at  which  the  vessel  might  be  expected  to 
depart.  It  would  probably  be  on  the  fourth  day  from  the  pres- 
ent. "  That  is  most  fortunate  I "  he  had  then  said  to  himself. 
Now,  why  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  considered  it  so  very 
fortunate,  we  hesitate  to  reveal.  Nevertheless,  —  to  hold  noth- 
ing back  from  the  reader,  —  it  was  because,  on  the  third  day 
from  the  present,  he  was  to  preach  the  Election  Sermon ;  and, 
as  such  an  occasion  formed  an  honorable   epoch  in   the  life  of 


266  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

a  New  England  clergyman,  lie  could  not  have  chanced  upon  a 
more  suitable  mode  and  time  of  terminating  his  professional 
career.  "At  least,  they  shall  say  of  me/'  thought  this  exem- 
plary man,  "that  I  leave  no  public  duty  unperformed,  nor  ill 
performed!"  Sad,  indeed,  that  an  introspection  so  profound 
and  acute  as  this  poor  minister's  should  be  so  miserably  deceived ! 
We  have  had,  and  may  still  have,  worse  things  to  tell  of  him; 
but  none,  we  apprehend,  so  pitiably  weak;  no  evidence,  at  once 
so  slight  and  irrefragable,  of  a  subtle  disease,  that  had  long 
since  begun  to  eat  into  the  real  substance  of  his  character.  No 
man,  for  any  considerable  period,  can  wear  one  face  to  himself, 
and  another  to  the  multitude,  without  finally  getting  bewildered 
as  to  which  may  be  the  true. 

The  excitement  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  feelings,  as  he  returned 
from  his  interview  with  Hester,  lent  him  unaccustomed  physical 
energy,  and  hurried  him  townward  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  path- 
way among  the  woods  seemed  wilder,  more  uncouth  with  its 
rude  natural  obstacles,  and  less  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man, 
than  he  remembered  it  on  his  outward  journey.  But  he  leaped 
across  the  plashy  places,  thrust  himself  through  the  clinging 
underbrush,  climbed  the  ascent,  plunged  into  the  hollow,  and 
overcame,  in  short,  all  the  difficulties  of  the  track,  with  an 
unweariable  activity  that  astonished  him.  He  could  not  but 
recall  how  feebly,  and  with  what  frequent  pauses  for  breath,  he 
had  toiled  over  the  same  ground,  only  two  days  before.  As  he 
drew  near  the  town,  he  took  an  impression  of  change  from  the 
series  of  familiar  objects  that  presented  themselves.  It  seemed 
not  yesterday,  not  one,  nor  two,  but  many  days,  or  even  years 
ago,  since  he  had  quitted  them.  There,  indeed,  was  each  former 
trace  of  the  street,  as  he  remembered  it,  and  all  the  peculiarities 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  267 

of  the  houses,  with  the  due  multitude  of  gable-peaks,  and  a 
weathercock  at  every  point  where  his  memory  suggested  one. 
Not  the  less,  however,  came  this  importunately  obtrusive  sense 
of  change.  The  same  was  true  as  regarded  the  acquaintances 
whom  he  met,  and  all  the  well-known  shapes  of  human  life, 
about  the  little  town.  They  looked  neither  older  nor  younger 
now ;  the  beards  of  the  aged  were  no  whiter,  nor  could  the 
creeping  babe  of  yesterday  walk  on  his  feet  to-day ;  it  was 
impossible  to  describe  in  what  respect  they  differed  from  the 
individuals  on  whom  he  had  so  recently  bestowed  a  parting 
glance ;  and  yet  the  minister's  deepest  sense  seemed  to  inform 
him  of  their  mutability.  A  similar  impression  struck  him  most 
remarkably,  as  he  passed  under  the  walls  of  his  own  church. 
The  edifice  had  so  very  strange,  and  yet  so  familiar,  an  aspect, 
that  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  mind  vibrated  between  two  ideas ;  either 
that  he  had  seen  it  only  in  a  dream  hitherto,  or  that  he  was 
merely  dreaming  about  it  now. 

This  phenomenon,  in  the  various  shapes  which  it  assumed, 
indicated  no  external  change,  but  so  sudden  and  important  a 
change  in  the  spectator  of  the  familiar  scene,  that  the  interven- 
ing space  of  a  single  day  had  operated  on  his  consciousness  like 
the  lapse  of  years.  The  minister's  own  will,  and  Hester's  will, 
and  the  fate  that  grew  between  them,  had  wrought  this  trans- 
formation. It  was  the  same  town  as  heretofore ;  but  the  same 
minister  returned  not  from  the  forest.  He  might  have  said  to 
the  friends  who  greeted  him,  —  "I  am  not  the  man  for  whom 
you  take  me !  I  left  him  yonder  in  the  forest,  withdrawn  into 
a  secret  dell,  by  a  mossy  tree-trunk,  and  near  a  melancholy 
brook !  Go,  seek  your  minister,  and  see  if  his  emaciated  figure, 
his    thin    cheek,   his  white,    heavy,   pain-wrinkled    brow,  be   not 


268  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

flung  down  there,  like  a  cast-off  garment ! "  His  friends,  no 
doubt,  would  still  have  insisted  with  him,  —  "  Thou  art  thyself 
the  man!" — but  the  error  would  have  been  their  own,  not  his. 
Before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  reached  home,  his  inner  man  gave 
him  other  evidences  of  a  revolution  in  the  sphere  of  thought 
and  feeling.  In  truth,  nothing  short  of  a  total  change  of 
dynasty  and  moral  code,  in  that  interior  kingdom,  was  adequate 
to  account  for  the  impulses  now  communicated  to  the  unfortu- 
nate and  startled  minister.  At  every  step  he  was  incited  to  do 
some  strange,  wild,  wicked  thing  or  other,  with  a  sense  that  it 
would  be  at  once  involuntary  and  intentional ;  in  spite  of  him- 
self, yet  growing  out  of  a  profounder  self  than  that  which 
opposed  the  impulse.  Eor  instance,  he  met  one  of  his  own 
deacons.  The  good  old  man  addressed  him  with  the  paternal 
affection  and  patriarchal  privilege,  which  his  venerable  age,  his 
upright  and  holy  character,  and  his  station  in  the  Church, 
entitled  him  to  use;  and,  conjoined  with  this,  the  deep,  almost 
worshipping  respect,  which  the  minister's  professional  and  private 
claims  alike  demanded.  Never  was  there  a  more  beautiful 
example  of  how  the  majesty  of  age  and  wisdom  may  comport 
with  the  obeisance  and  respect  enjoined  upon  it,  as  from  a 
lower  social  rank,  and  inferior  order  of  endowment,  towards 
a  higher.  Now,  during  a  conversation  of  some  two  or  three 
moments  between  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  this  excel- 
lent and  hoary-bearded  deacon,  it  was  only  by  the  most  careful 
self-control  that  the  former  could  refrain  from  uttering  certain 
blasphemous  suggestions  that  rose  into  his  mind,  respecting  the 
communion  supper.  He  absolutely  trembled  and  turned  pale  as 
ashes,  lest  his  tongue  should  wag  itself,  in  utterance  of  these 
horrible  matters,  and  plead  his  own  consent  for  so  doing,  with- 


THE   MINISTER   IN    A   MAZE.  269 

out  his  having  fairly  given  it.  And,  even  with  this  terror  in 
his  heart,  he  could  hardly  avoid  laughing,  to  imagine  how  the 
sanctified  old  patriarchal  deacon  would  have  been  petrified  by 
his  minister's  impiety  ! 

Again,  another  incident  of  the  same  nature.  Hurrying  along 
the  street,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  encountered  the  eldest 
female  member  of  his  church ;  a  most  pious  and  exemplary  old 
dame;  poor,  widowed,  lonely,  and  with  a  heart  as  full  of 
reminiscences  about  her  dead  husband  and  children,  and  her 
dead  friends  of  long  ago,  as  a  burial-ground  is  full  of  storied 
gravestones.  Yet  all  this,  which  would  else  have  been  such 
heavy  sorrow,  was  made  almost  a  solemn  joy  to  her  devout  old 
soul,  by  religious  consolations  and  the  truths  of  Scripture, 
wherewith  she  had  fed  herself  continually  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  And,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  taken  her  in  charge, 
the  good  grandam's  chief  earthly  comfort  —  which,  unless  it  had 
been  likewise  a  heavenly  comfort,  could  have  been  none  at  all 
—  was  to  meet  her  pastor,  whether  casually,  or  of  set  purpose, 
and  be  refreshed  with  a  word  of  warm,  fragrant,  heaven-breath- 
ing Gospel  truth,  from  his  beloved  lips,  into  her  dulled,  but 
rapturously  attentive  ear.  But,  on  this  occasion,  up  to  the 
moment  of  putting  his  lips  to  the  old  woman's  ear,  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale, as  the  great  enemy  of  souls  would  have  it,  could  recall  no 
text  of  Scripture,  nor  aught  else,  except  a  brief,  pithy,  and,  as 
it  then  appeared  to  him,  unanswerable  argument  against  the 
immortality  of  the  human  soul.  The  instilment  thereof  into  her 
mind  would  probably  have  caused  this  aged  sister  to  drop  down 
dead,  at  once,  as  by  the  effect  of  an  intensely  poisonous  infusion. 
What  he  really  did  whisper,  the  minister  could  never  afterwards 
recollect.     There  was,  perhaps,  a  fortunate  disorder  in  his  utter- 


270  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ance,  which  failed  to  impart  any  distinct  idea  to  the  good 
widow's  comprehension,  or  which  Providence  interpreted  after  a 
method  of  its  own.  Assuredly,  as  the  minister  looked  back,  he 
beheld  an  expression  of  divine  gratitude  and  ecstasy  that  seemed 
like  the  shine  of  the  celestial  city  on  her  face,  so  wrinkled  and 
ashy  pale. 

Again,  a  third  instance.  After  parting  from  the  old  church- 
member,  he  met  the  youngest  sister  of  them  all.  It  was  a 
maiden  newly  won  —  and  won  by  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  own  sermon,  on  the  Sabbath  after  his  vigil  —  to  barter 
the  transitory  pleasures  of  the  world  for  the  heavenly  hope,  that 
was  to  assume  brighter  substance  as  life  grew  dark  around  her, 
and  which  would  gild  the  utter  gloom  with  final  glory.  She 
was  fair  and  pure  as  a  lily  that  had  bloomed  in  Paradise.  The 
minister  knew  well  that  he  was  himself  enshrined  within  the 
stainless  sanctity  of  her  heart,  which  hung  its  snowy  curtains 
about  his  image,  imparting  to  religion  the  warmth  of  love,  and 
to  love  a  religious  purity.  Satan,  that  afternoon,  had  surely  led 
the  poor  young  girl  away  from  her  mother's  side,  and  thrown 
her  into  the  pathway  of  this  sorely  tempted,  or  —  shall  we  not 
rather  say  ?  —  this  lost  and  desperate  man.  As  she  drew  nigh, 
the  arch-fiend  whispered  him  to  condense  into  small  compass 
and  drop  into  her  tender  bosom  a  germ  of  evil  that  would  be 
sure  to  blossom  darkly  soon,  and  bear  black  fruit  betimes.  Such 
■was  his  sense  of  power  over  this  virgin  soul,  trusting  him  as 
she  did,  that  the  minister  felt  potent  to  blight  all  the  field  of 
innocence  with  but  one  wicked  look,  and  develop  all  its  opposite 
with  but  a  word.  So  —  with  a  mightier  struggle  than  he  had 
yet  sustained  —  he  held  his  Geneva  cloak  before  his  face,  and 
hurried  onward,  making  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  leaving  the 


THE   MINISTER   IN    A   MAZE.  271 

young  sister  to  digest  his  rudeness  as  she  might.  She  ransacked 
her  conscience,  —  which  was  full  of  harmless  little  matters,  like 
her  pocket  or  her  work-bag,  —  and  took  herself  to  task,  poor 
thing !  for  a  thousand  imaginary  faults ;  and  went  about  her 
household  duties  with  swollen  eyelids  the  next  morning. 

Before  the  minister  had  time  to  celebrate  his  victory  over  this 
last  temptation,  he  was  conscious  of  another  impulse,  more  ludi- 
crous, and  almost  as  horrible.  It  was,  —  we  blush  to  tell  it,  — 
it  was  to  stop  short  in  the  road,  and  teach  some  very  wicked 
words  to  a  knot  of  little  Puritan  children  who  were  playing 
there,  and  had  but  just  begun  to  talk.  Denying  himself  this 
freak,  as  unworthy  of  his  cloth,  he  met  a  drunken  seaman,  one 
of  the  ship's  crew  from  the  Spanish  Main.  And,  here,  since 
he  had  so  valiantly  forborne  all  other  wickedness,  poor  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  longed,  at  least,  to  shake  hands  with  the  tarry 
blackguard,  and  recreate  himself  with  a  few  improper  jests,  such 
as  dissolute  sailors  so  abound  with,  and  a  volley  of  good,  round, 
solid,  satisfactory,  and  heaven-defying  oaths !  It  was  not  so 
much  a  better  principle  as  partly  his  natural  good  taste,  and 
still  more  his  buckramed  habit  of  clerical  decorum,  that  carried 
him  safely  through  the  latter  crisis. 

"What  is  it  that  haunts  and  tempts  me  thus?"  cried  the 
minister  to  himself,  at  length,  pausing  in  the  street,  and  strik- 
ing his  hand  against  his  forehead.  "  Am  I  mad  ?  or  am  I  given 
over  utterly  to  the  fiend?  Did  I  make  a  contract  with  him 
in  the  forest,  and  sign  it  with  my  blood?  And  does  he  now 
summon  me  to  its  fulfilment,  by  suggesting  the  performance 
of  every  wickedness  which  his  most  foul  imagination  can  con- 
ceive ?  " 

At  the  moment  when   the    Eeverend   Mr.   Dimmesdale   thus 


272  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

communed  with  himself,  and  struck  his  forehead  with  his  hand, 
old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  reputed  witch-lady,  is  said  to  have 
been  passing  by.  She  made  a  very  grand  appearance;  having 
on  a  high  head-dress,  a  rich  gown  of  velvet,  and  a  ruff  done  up 
with  the  famous  yellow  starch,  of  which  Ann  Turner,  her  espe- 
cial friend,  had  taught  her  the  secret,  before  this  last  good  lady 
had  been  hanged  for  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  murder.  Whether 
•the  witch  had  read  the  minister's  thoughts,  or  no,  she  came  to 
a  full  stop,  Llooked  shrewdly  into  his  face,  smiled  craftily,  and  — 
though  little  given  to  converse  with  clergymen  —  began  a  con- 
versation. 

"  So,  reverend  Sir,  you  have  made  a  visit  into  the  forest," 
observed  the  witch-lady,  nodding  her  high  head-dress  at  him. 
"  The  next  time,  I  pray  you  to  allow  me  only  a  fair  warning, 
and  I  shall  be  proud  to  bear  you  company.  Without  taking 
overmuch  upon  myself,  my  good  word  will  go  far  towards  gain- 
ing any  strange  gentleman  a  fair  reception  from  yonder  potentate 
you  wot  of !  ** 

"I  profess,  madam,"  answered  the  clergyman,  with  a  grave 
obeisance,  such  as  the  lady's  rank  demanded,  and  his  own  good- 
breeding  made  imperative,  — "  I  profess,  on  my  conscience  and 
character,  that  I  am  utterly  bewildered  as  touching  the  purport 
of  your  words !  I  went  not  into  the  forest  to  seek  a  potentate ; 
neither  do  I,  at  any  future  time,  design  a  visit  thither,  with  a 
view  to  gaining  the  favor  of  such  a  personage.  My  one  suffi- 
cient object  was  to  greet  that  pious  friend  of  mine,  the  Apostle 
Eliot,  and  rejoice  with  him  over  the  many  precious  souls  he 
hath  won  from  heathendom !  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  cackled  the  old  witch-lady,  still  nodding  her 
high  head-dress  at   the  minister.     "Well,  well,  we   must    needs 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  273 

talk  thus  in  the  daytime !  You  carry  it  off  like  an  old  hand  ! 
But  at  midnight,  and  in  the  forest,  we  shall  have  other  talk 
together !  " 

She  passed  on  with  her  aged  stateliness,  but  often  turning 
back  her  head  and  smiling  at  him,  like  one  willing  to  recognize 
a  secret  intimacy  of  connection. 

"  Have  I  then  sold  myself,"  thought  the  minister,  "  to  the 
fiend  whom,  if  men  say  true,  this  yellow-starched  and  velveted 
old  hag  has  chosen  for  her  prince  and  master ! " 

The  wretched  minister  !  He  had  made  a  bargain  very  like 
it !  Tempted  by  a  dream  of  happiness,  he  had  yielded  himself, 
with  deliberate  choice,  as  he  had  never  done  before,  to  what  he 
knew  was  deadly  sin.  And  the  infectious  poison  of  that  sin 
had  been  thus  rapidly  diffused  throughout  his  moral  system.  It 
had  stupefied  all  blessed  impulses,  and  awakened  into  vivid  life 
the  whole  brotherhood  of  bad  ones.  Scorn,  bitterness,  unpro- 
voked malignity,  gratuitous  desire  of  ill,  ridicule  of  whatever 
was  good  and  holy,  all  awoke,  to  tempt,  even  while  they  fright- 
ened him.  And  his  encounter  with  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  if  it 
were  a  real  incident,  did  but  show  his  sympathy  and  fellowship 
with  wicked  mortals,  and  the  world  of  perverted  spirits. 

He  had,  by  this  time,  reached  his  dwelling,  on  the  edge  of 
the  burial-ground,  and,  hastening  up  the  stairs,  took  refuge  in 
his  study.  The  minister  was  glad  to  have  reached  this  shelter, 
without  first  betraying  himself  to  the  world  by  any  of  those 
strange  and  wicked  eccentricities  to  which  he  had  been  con- 
tinually impelled  while  passing  through  the  streets.  He  entered 
the  accustomed  room,  and  looked  around  him  on  its  books,  its 
windows,  its  fireplace,  and  the  tapestried  comfort  of  the  walls, 
with  the  same  perception    of   strangeness    that  had  haunted  him 


274.  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

throughout  his  walk  from  the  forest-dell  into  the  town,  and 
thitherward.  Here  he  had  studied  and  written;  here,  gone 
through  fast  and  vigil,  and  come  forth  half  alive;  here,  striven 
to  pray ;  here,  borne  a  hundred  thousand  agonies !  There  was 
the  Bible,  in  its  rich  old  Hebrew,  with  Moses  and  the  Prophets 
speaking  to  him,  and  God's  voice  through  all !  There,  on  the 
table,  with  the  inky  pen  beside  it,  was  an  unfinished  sermon, 
with  a  sentence  broken  in  the  midst,  where  his  thoughts  had 
ceased  to  gush  out  upon  the  page,  two  days  before.  He  knew 
that  it  was  himself,  the  thin  and  white-cheeked  minister,  who 
had  done  and  suffered  these  things,  and  written  thus  far  into 
the  Election  Sermon !  But  he  seemed  to  stand  apart,  and  eye 
this  former  self  with  scornful,  pitying,  but  half-envious  curiosity. 
That  self  was  gone.  Another  man  had  returned  out  of  the  forest  ; 
a  wiser  one;  with  a  knowledge  of  hidden  mysteries  which  the 
simplicity  of  the  former  never  could  have  reached.  A  bitter 
kind  of  knowledge  that ! 

While  occupied  with  these  reflections,  a  knock  came  at  the 
door  of  the  study,  and  the  minister  said,  "Come  in!"  —  not 
wholly  devoid  of  an  idea  that  he  might  behold  an  evil  spirit. 
And  so  he  did!  It  was  old  Roger  Chillingworth  that  entered. 
The  minister  stood,  white  and  speechless,  with  one  hand  on  the 
Hebrew  Scriptures,  and  the  other  spread  upon  his  breast. 

"Welcome  home,  reverend  Sir,"  said  the  physician.  "  And  how 
found  you  that  godly  man,  the  Apostle  Eliot?  But  methinks, 
dear  Sir,  you  look  pale ;  as  if  the  travel  through  the  wilderness  had 
been  too  sore  for  you.  Will  not  my  aid  be  requisite  to  put 
you  in  heart  and  strength  to  preach  your  Election  Sermon  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  think  not  so,"  rejoined  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale.     "My  journey,  and  the  sight  of  the  holy  Apostle  yonder, 


THE   MINISTER   IN   A   MAZE.  275 

and  the  free  air  which  I  have  breathed,  have  done  ine  good, 
after  so  long  confinement  in  my  study.  I  think  to  need  no 
more  of  your  drugs,  my  kind  physician,  good  though  they  be, 
and  administered  by  a  friendly  hand." 

All  this  time,  Soger  Chillingworth  was  looking  at  the  min- 
ister with  the  grave  and  intent  regard  of  a  physician  towards 
his  patient.  But,  in  spite  of  this  outward  show,  the  latter  was 
almost  convinced  of  the  old  man's  knowledge,  or,  at  least,  his 
confident  suspicion,  with  respect  to  his  own  interview  with  Hester 
Pry nne.  The  physician  knew  then,  that,  in  the  minister's  regard, 
he  was  no  longer  a  trusted  friend,  but  his  bitterest  enemy.  So 
much  being  known,  it  would  appear  natural  that  a  part  of  it 
should  be  expressed.  It  is  singular,  however,  how  long  a  time 
often  passes  before  words  embody  things;  and  with  what  security 
two  persons,  who  choose  to  avoid  a  certain  subject,  may  approach 
its  very  verge,  and  retire  without  disturbing  it.  Thus,  the 
minister  felt  no  apprehension  that  Roger  Chillingworth  would 
touch,  in  express  words,  upon  the  real  position  which  they  sus- 
tained towards  one  another.  Yet  did  the  physician,  in  his  dark 
way,  creep  frightfully  near  the  secret. 

"Were  it  not  better/'  said  he,  "that  you  use  my  poor  skill 
to-night?  Verily,  dear  Sir,  we  must  take  pains  to  make  you 
strong  and  vigorous  for  this  occasion  of  the  Election  discourse. 
The  people  look  for  great  things  from  you;  apprehending  that 
another  year  may  come  about,  and  find  their  pastor  gone." 

"Yea,  to  another  world,"  replied  the  minister,  with  pious 
resignation.  "  Heaven  grant  it  be  a  better  one ;  for,  in  good 
sooth,  I  hardly  think  to  tarry  with  my  flock  through  the  flitting 
seasons  of  another  year !  But,  touching  your  medicine,  kind 
Sir,  in  my  present  frame  of  body,  I  need  it  not." 


276  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

"I  joy  to  hear  it,"  answered  the  physician.  "It  may  be 
that  my  remedies,  so  long  administered  in  vain,  begin  now  to 
take  dne  effect.  Happy  man  were  I,  and  well  deserving  of  New 
England's  gratitude,  could  I  achieve  this  cure!" 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  most  watchful  friend,"  said  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  with  a  solemn  smile.  "  I  thank  you, 
and  can  but  requite  your  good  deeds  with  my  prayers." 

"  A  good  man's  prayers  are  golden  recompense ! "  rejoined 
old  Roger  Chillingworth,  as  he  took  his  leave.  "Yea,  they  are 
the  current  gold  coin  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  with  the  King's 
own  mint-mark  on  them  ! " 

Left  alone,  the  minister  summoned  a  servant  of  the  house, 
and  requested  food,  which,  being  set  before  him,  he  ate  with 
ravenous  appetite.  Then,  flinging  the  already  written  pages  of 
the  Election  Sermon  into  the  fire,  he  forthwith  began  another, 
which  he  wrote  with  such  an  impulsive  flow  of  thought  and 
emotion,  that  he  fancied  himself  inspired;  and  only  wondered 
that  Heaven  should  see  fit  to  transmit  the  grand  and  solemn 
music  of  its  oracles  through  so  foul  an  organ-pipe  as  he.  How- 
ever, leaving  that  mystery  to  solve  itself,  or  go  unsolved  forever, 
he  drove  his  task  onward,  with  earnest  haste  and  ecstasy.  Thus 
the  night  fled  away,  as  if  it  were  a  winged  steed,  and  he  career- 
ing on  it ;  morning  came,  and  peeped,  blushing,  through  the 
curtains ;  and  at  last  sunrise  threw  a  golden  beam  into  the 
study  and  laid  it  right  across  the  minister's  bedazzled  eyes. 
There  he  was,  with  the  pen  still  between  his  fingers,  and  a  vast, 
immeasurable  tract  of  written  space  behind  him ! 


XXI. 


THE  NEW   ENGLAND  HOLIDAY. 


•  ETIMES  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which 
the  new  Governor  was  to  receive  his  office  at 
the  hands  of  the  people,  Hester  Prynne  and 
little  Pearl  came  into  the  market-place.  It 
was  already  thronged  with  the  craftsmen  and 
other  plebeian  inhabitants  of  the  town,  in 
considerable  numbers ;  among  whom,  likewise,  were  many  rough 
figures,  whose  attire  of  deer-skins  marked  them  as  belonging  to 
some  of  the  forest  settlements,  which  surrounded  the  little  metrop- 
olis of  the  colony. 

On  this  public  holiday,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  for  seven 
years  past,  Hester  was  clad  in  a  garment  of  coarse  gray  cloth. 
Not  more  by  its  hue  than  by  some  indescribable  peculiarity  in 
its  fashion,  it  had  the  effect  of  making  her  fade  personally  out 
of  sight  and  outline ;  while,  again,  the  scarlet  letter  brought 
her  back  from  this  twilight  indistinctness,  and  revealed  her 
under  the  moral  aspect  of  its  own  illumination.  Her  face,  so 
long  familiar  to  the  towns-people,  showed  the  marble  quietude 
which   they  were   accustomed   to   behold  there.     It   was    like  a 


278  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

mask;  or,  rather,  like  the  frozen  calmness  of  a  dead  woman's 
features ;  owing  this  dreary  resemblance  to  the  fact  that  Hester 
was  actually  dead,  in  respect  to  any  claim  of  sympathy,  and 
had  departed  out  of  the  world  with  which  she  still  seemed  to 
mingle. 

It  might  be,  on  this  one  day,  that  there  was  an  expression 
unseen  before,  nor,  indeed,  vivid  enough  to  be  detected  now ; 
unless  some  pretematurally  gifted  observer  should  have  first  read 
the  heart,  and  have  afterwards  sought  a  corresponding  develop- 
ment in  the  countenance  and  mien.  Such  a  spiritual  seer  might 
have  conceived,  that,  after  sustaining  the  gaze  of  the  multitude 
through  seven  miserable  years  as  a  necessity,  a  penance,  and 
something  which  it  was  a  stern  religion  to  endure,  she  now,  for 
one  last  time  more,  encountered  it  freely  and  voluntarily,  in 
order  to  convert  what  had  so  long  been  agony  into  a  kind  of 
triumph.  "Look  your  last  on  the  scarlet  letter  and  its  wearer!" 
—  the  people's  victim  and  life-long  bond-slave,  as  they  fancied 
her,  might  say  to  them.  "  Yet  a  little  while,  and  she  will  be 
beyond  your  reach !  A  few  hours  longer,  and  the  deep,  mys- 
terious ocean  will  quench  and  hide  forever  the  symbol  which  ye 
have  caused  to  burn  upon  her  bosom  !  "  Nor  were  it  an  incon- 
sistency too  improbable  to  be  assigned  to  human  nature,  should 
we  suppose  a  feeling  of  regret  in  Hester's  mind,  at  the  moment 
when  she  was  about  to  win  her  freedom  from  the  pain  which 
had  been  thus  deeply  incorporated  with  her  being.  Might  there 
not  be  an  irresistible  desire  to  cmafF  a  last,  long,  breathless 
draught  of  the  cup  of  wormwood  and  aloes,  with  which  nearly 
all  her  years  of  womanhood  had  been  perpetually  flavored?  The 
wine  of  life,  henceforth  to  be  presented  to  her  lips,  must  be 
indeed  rich,  delicious,  and  exhilarating,  in  its  chased  and  golden 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  279 

beaker ;  or  else  leave  an  inevitable  and  weary  languor,  after  the 
lees  of  bitterness  wherewith  she  had  been  drugged,  as  with  a 
cordial  of  intensest  potency. 

Pearl  was  decked  out  with  airy  gayety.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  to  guess  that  this  bright  and  sunny  apparition  owed 
its  existence  to  the  shape  of  gloomy  gray;  or  that  a  fancy,  at 
once  so  gorgeous  and  so  delicate  as  must  have  been  requisite  to 
contrive  the  child's  apparel,  was  the  same  that  had  achieved  a 
task  perhaps  more  difficult,  in  imparting  so  distinct  a  peculiarity 
to  Hester's  simple  robe.  The  dress,  so  proper  was  it  to  little 
Pearl,  seemed  an  effluence,  or  inevitable  development  and  out- 
ward manifestation  of  her  character,  no  more  to  be  separated 
from  her  than  the  many-hued  brilliancy  from  a  butterfly's  wing, 
or  the  painted  glory  from  the  leaf  of  a  bright  flower.  As  with 
these,  so  with  the  child;  her  garb  was  all  of  one  idea  with  her 
nature.  On  this  eventful  day,  moreover,  there  was  a  certain 
singular  inquietude  and  excitement  in  her  mood,  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  the  shimmer  of  a  diamond,  that  sparkles 
and  flashes  with  the  varied  throbbings  of  the  breast  on  which 
it  is  displayed.  Children  have  always  a  sympathy  in  the  agita- 
tions of  there  connected  with  them ;  always,  especially,  a  sense 
of  any  trouble  or  impending  revolution,  of  whatever  kind,  in 
domestic  circumstances ;  and  therefore  Pearl,  who  was  the  gem 
on  her  mother's  unquiet  bosom,  betrayed,  by  the  very  dance  of 
her  spirits,  the  emotions  which  none  could  detect  in  the  marble 
passiveness  of  Hester's  brow. 

This  effervescence  made  her  flit  with  a  birdlike  movement, 
rather  than  walk  by  her  mother's  side.  She  broke  continually 
into  shouts  of  a  wild,  inarticulate,  and  sometimes  piercing  music. 
When  they  reached  the  market-place,  she  became  still  more  rest- 


280 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


less,  on  perceiving  the  stir  and  bustle  that  enlivened  the  spot; 
for  it  was  usually  more  like  the  broad  and  lonesome  green 
before  a  village  meeting-house,  than  the  centre  of  a  town's 
business. 

"Why,  what  is  this,  mother?"  cried  she.  "Wherefore  have 
all  the  people  left  their  work  to-day  ?  Is  it  a  play-day  for  the 
whole  world?  See,  there  is  the  blacksmith!  He  has  washed 
his  sooty  face,  and  put  on  his  Sabbath-day  clothes,  and  looks 
as  if  he  would  gladly  be  merry,  if  any  kind  body  would  only 
teach  him  how!  And  there  is  Master  Brackett,  the  old  jailer, 
nodding  and  smiling  at  me.     Why  does  he  do  so,  mother?" 

"He  remembers  thee  a  little  babe,  my  child,"  answered 
Hester. 

"  He  should  not  nod  and  smile  at  me,  for  all  that,  —  the 
black,  grim,  ugly-eyed  old  man ! "  said  Pearl.  "  He  may  nod 
at  thee,  if  he  will;  for  thou  art  clad  in  gray,  and  wearest  the 
scarlet  letter.  But  see,  mother,  how  many  faces  of  strange 
people,  and  Indians  among  them,  and  sailors !  What  have  they 
all  come  to  do,  here  in  the  market-place?" 

"They  wait  to  see  the  procession  pass,"  said  Hester.  "For 
the  Governor  and  the  magistrates  are  to  go  by,  and  the  minis- 
ters, and  all  the  great  people  and  good  people,  with  the  music 
and  the  soldiers  marching  before  them." 

"  And  will  the  minister  be  there  ? "  asked  Pearl.  "  And 
will  he  hold  out  both  his  hands  to  me,  as  when  thou  ledst  me 
to  him  from  the  brook-side  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  there,  child,"  answered  her  mother.  "  But  he 
will  not  greet  thee  to-day;  nor  must  thou  greet  him." 

"  What  a  strange,  sad  man  is  he ! "  said  the  child,  as  if  speak- 
ing partly  to  herself.      "In  the  dark  night-time  he  calls  us  to 


THE   NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  281 

him,  and  holds  thy  hand  and  mine,  as  when  we  stood  with  him 
on  the  scaffold  yonder.  And  hi  the  deep  forest,  where  only  the 
old  trees  can  hear,  and  the  strip  of  sky  see  it,  he  talks  with 
thee,  sitting  on  a  heap  of  moss !  And  he  kisses  my  forehead, 
too,  so  that  the  little  brook  would  hardly  wash  it  off !  But 
here,  in  the  sunny  day,  and  among  all  the  people,  he  knows 
us  not ;  nor  must  we  know  him  !  A  strange,  sad  man  is  he, 
with  his  hand  always  over  his  heart ! " 

"  Be  quiet,  Pearl !  Thou  understandest  not  these  things/' 
said  her  mother.  "Think  not  now  of  the  minister,  but  look 
about  thee,  and  see  how  cheery  is  everybody's  face  to-day.  The 
children  have  come  from  their  schools,  and  the  grown  people 
from  their  workshops  and  their  fields,  on  purpose  to  be  happy. 
For,  to-day,  a  new  man  is  beginning  to  rule  over  them;  and 
so  —  as  has  been  the  custom  of  mankind  ever  since  a  nation 
was  first  gathered  —  they  make  merry  and  rejoice;  as  if  a  good 
and  golden  year  were  at  length  to  pass  over  the  poor  old 
world ! n 

It  was  as  Hester  said,  in  regard  to  the  unwonted  jollity  that 
brightened  the  faces  of  the  people.  Into  this  festal  season  of 
the  year  —  as  it  already  was,  and  continued  to  be  during  the 
greater  part  of  two  centuries  —  the  Puritans  compressed  what- 
ever mirth  and  public  joy  they  deemed  allowable  to  human 
infirmity;  thereby  so  far  dispelling  the  customary  cloud,  that, 
for  the  space  of  a  single  holiday,  they  appeared  scarcely  more 
grave  than  most  other  communities  at  a  period  of  general 
affliction. 

But  Ave  perhaps  exaggerate  the  gray  or  sable  tinge,  which 
undoubtedly  characterized  the  mood  and  manners  of  the  age. 
The   persons  now  in  the  market-place   of  Boston  had  not  been 


282         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

born  to  an  inheritance  of  Puritanic  gloom.  They  were  native 
Englishmen,  whose  fathers  had  lived  in  the  sunny  richness  of  the 
Elizabethan  epoch;  a  time  when  the  life  of  England,  viewed  as 
one  great  mass,  would  appear  to  have  been  as  stately,  magnifi- 
cent, and  joyous,  as  the  world  has  ever  witnessed.  Had  they 
followed  their  hereditary  taste,  the  New  England  settlers  would 
have  illustrated  all  events  of  public  importance  by  bonfiresj  ban- 
quets, pageantries,  and  processions.  Nor  would  it  have  been 
impracticable,  in  the  observance  of  majestic  ceremonies,  to  com- 
bine mirthful  recreation  with  solemnity,  and  give,  as  it  were, 
a  grotesque  and  brilliant  embroidery  to  the  great  robe  of 
state,  which  a  nation,  at  such  festivals,  puts  on.  There  was 
some  shadow  of  an  attempt  of  this  kind  in  the  mode  of  cele- 
brating the  day  on  which  the  political  year  of  the  colony 
commenced.  The  dim  reflection  of  a  remembered  splendor,  a 
colorless  and  manifold  diluted  repetition  of  what  they  had  beheld 
in  proud  old  London,  —  we  will  not  say  at  a  royal  coronation, 
but  at  a  Lord  Mayor's  show,  —  might  be  traced  in  the  cus- 
toms which  our  forefathers  instituted,  with  reference  to  the 
annual  installation  of  magistrates.  The  fathers  and  founders 
of  the  commonwealth  —  the  statesman,  the  priest,  and  the  sol- 
dier—  deemed  it  a  duty  then  to  assume  the  outward  state  and 
majesty,  which,  in  accordance  with  antique  style,  Mas  looked 
upon  as  the  proper  garb  of  public  or  social  eminence.  All  came 
forth,  to  move  in  procession  before  the  people's  eye,  and  thus 
impart  a  needed  dignity  to  the  simple  framework  of  a  govern- 
ment so  newly  constructed. 

Then,  too,  the  people  were  countenanced,  if  not  encouraged, 
in  relaxing  the  severe  and  close  application  to  their  various 
modes  of  rugged  industry,  which,  at  all  other  times,  seemed  of 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  283 

the  same  piece  and  material  with  their  religion.  Here,  it  is 
true,  were  none  of  the  applicances  which  popular  merriment 
would  so  readily  have  found  in  the  England  of  Elizabeth's 
time,  or  that  of  James ;  —  no  rude  shows  of  a  theatrical  kind  ; 
no  minstrel,  with  his  harp  and  legendary  ballad,  nor  gleeman, 
with  an  ape  dancing  to  his  music ;  no  juggler,  with  his  tricks 
of  mimic  witchcraft;  no  Merry  Andrew,  to  stir  up  the  multi- 
tude with  jests,  perhaps  hundreds  of  years  old,  but  still  effective, 
by  their  appeals  to  the  very  broadest  sources  of  mirthful  sym- 
pathy. All  such  professors  of  the  several  branches  of  jocularity 
would  have  been  sternly  repressed,  not  only  by  the  rigid  disci- 
pline of  law,  but  by  the  general  sentiment  which  gives  law  its 
vitality.  Not  the  less,  however,  the  great,  honest  face  of  the 
people  smiled,  grimly,  perhaps,  but  widely  too.  Nor  were  sports 
wanting,  such  as  the  colonists  had  witnessed,  and  shared  in,  long 
ago,  at  the  country  fairs  and  on  the  village-greens  of  England ; 
and  which  it  was  thought  well  to  keep  alive  on  this  new  soil, 
for  the  sake  of  the  courage  and  manliness  that  were  essential 
in  them.  Wrestling-matches,  in  the  different  fashions  of  Cornwall 
and  Devonshire,  were  seen  here  and  there  about  the  market- 
place; in  one  corner,  there  was  a  friendly  bout  at  quarterstaff; 
and  —  what  attracted  most  interest  of  all  —  on  the  platform  of 
the  pillory,  already  so  noted  in  our  pages,  two  masters  of  defence 
were  commencing  an  exhibition  with  the  buckler  and  broadsword. 
But,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  the  crowd,  this  latter  busi- 
ness was  broken  off  by  the  interposition  of  the  town  beadle, 
who  had  no  idea  of  permitting  the  majesty  of  the  law  to  be 
violated  by  such  an  abuse  of  one  of  its  consecrated  places. 

It  may  not  be  too  much  to  affirm,  on  the  whole,   (the  people 
being   then   in   the   first    stages  of  joyless  deportment,  and  the 


284 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


offspring  of  sires  who  had  known  how  to  be  merry,  in  their 
day,)  that  they  would  compare  favorably,  in  point  of  holiday 
keeping,  with  their  descendants,  even  at  so  long  an  interval  as 
ourselves.  Their  immediate  posterity,  the  generation  next  to  the 
early  emigrants,  wore  the  blackest  shade  of  Puritanism,  and  so 
darkened  the  national  visage  with  it,  that  all  the  subsequent 
years  have  not  sufficed  to  clear  it  up.  We  have  yet  to  learn 
again  the  forgotten  art  of  gayety. 

The  picture  of  human  life  in  the  market-place,  though  its 
general  tint  was  the  sad  gray,  brown,  or  black  of  the  English 
emigrants,  was  yet  enlivened  by  some  diversity  of  hue.  A  party 
of  Indians  —  in  their  savage  finery  of  curiously  embroidered 
deer-skin  robes,  wampum-belts,  red  and  yellow  ochre,  and 
feathers,  and  armed  with  the  bow  and  arrow  and  stone-headed 
spear  —  stood  apart,  with  countenances  of  inflexible  gravity, 
beyond  what  even  the  Puritan  aspect  could  attain.  Nor,  wild 
as  were  these  painted  barbarians,  were  they  the  wildest  feature 
of  the  scene.  This  distinction  could  more  justly  be  claimed  by 
some  mariners,  —  a  part  of  the  crew  of  the  vessel  from  the 
Spanish  Main,  —  who  had  come  ashore  to  see  the  humors  of 
Election  Day.  They  were  rough-looking  desperadoes,  with  sun- 
blackened  faces,  and  an  immensity  of  beard;  their  wide,  short 
trousers  were  confined  about  the  waist  by  belts,  often  clasped 
Avith  a  rough  plate  of  gold,  and  sustaining  always  a  long  knife, 
and,  in  some  instances,  a  sword.  From  beneath  their  broad- 
brimmed  hats  of  palm-leaf  gleamed  eyes  which,  even  in  good- 
nature and  merriment,  had  a  kind  of  animal  ferocity.  They 
transgressed,  without  fear  or  scruple,  the  rules  of  behavior  that 
were  binding  on  all  others ;  smoking  tobacco  under  the  beadle's 
very  nose,  although   each  whiff  would   have  cost  a  townsman  a 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  285 

shilling;  and  quaffing,  at  their  pleasure,  draughts  of  wine  or 
aqua-vitae  from  pocket-flasks,  which  they  freely  tendered  to  the 
gaping  crowd  around  them.  It  remarkably  characterized  the 
incomplete  morality  of  the  age,  rigid  as  we  call  it,  that  a  license 
was  allowed  the  seafaring  class,  not  merely  for  their  freaks  on 
shore,  but  for  far  more  desperate  deeds  on  their  proper  element. 
The  sailor  of  that  day  would  go  near  to  be  arraigned  as  a 
pirate  in  our  own.  There  could  be  little  doubt,  for  instance, 
that  this  very  ship's  crew,  though  no  unfavorable  specimens  of 
the  nautical  brotherhood,  had  been  guilty,  as  we  should  phrase 
it,  of  depredations  on  the  Spanish  commerce,  such  as  would 
have  perilled  all  their  necks  in  a  modem  court  of  justice. 

But  the  sea,  in  those  old  times,  heaved,  swelled,  and  foamed, 
very  much  at  its  own  will,  or  subject  only  to  the  tempestuous 
wind,  with  hardly  any  attempts  at  regulation  by  human  law. 
The  buccaneer  on  the  wave  might  relinquish  his  calling,  and 
become  at  once,  if  he  chose,  a  man  of  probity  and  piety  on 
land ;  nor,  even  in  the  full  career  of  his  reckless  life,  was  lie 
regarded  as  a  personage  with  whom  it  was  disreputable  to  traffic, 
or  casually  associate.  Thus,  the  Puritan  elders,  in  their  black 
cloaks,  starched  bands,  and  steeple-crowned  hats,  smiled  not 
unbenignantly  at  the  clamor  and  rude  deportment  of  these  jolly 
seafaring  men ;  and  it  excited  neither  surprise  nor  animadversion, 
when  so  reputable  a  citizen  as  old  Eoger  Chillingworth,  the 
physician,  was  seen  to  enter  the  market-place,  in  close  and 
familiar  talk  with  the  commander  of  the  questionable  vessel. 

The  latter  was  by  far  the  most  showy  and  gallant  figure,  so 
far  as  apparel  went,  anywhere  to  be  seen  among  the  multitude. 
He  wore  a  profusion  of  ribbons  on  his  garment,  and  gold-lace 
on  his  hat,  which  was   also  encircled  by  a  gold  chain,  and  sur- 


286  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

mounted  with  a  feather.  There  was  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  a 
sword-cut  on  his  forehead,  which,  by  the  arrangement  of  his 
hair,  he  seemed  anxious  rather  to  display  than  hide.  A  lands- 
man could  hardly  have  worn  this  garb  and  shown  this  face,  and 
worn  and  shown  them  both  with  such  a  galliard  air,  without 
undergoing  stern  question  before  a  magistrate,  and  probably 
incurring  fine  or  imprisonment,  or  perhaps  an  exhibition  in  the 
stocks.  As  regarded  the  shipmaster,  however,  all  was  looked 
upon  as  pertaining  to  the  character,  as  to  a  fish  his  glistening 
scales. 

After  parting  from  the  physician,  the  commander  of  the  Bristol 
ship  strolled  idly  through  the  market-place;  until,  happening  to 
approach  the  spot  where  Hester  Prynne  was  standing,  he  appeared 
to  recognize,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  address  her.  As  was  usually 
the  case  wherever  Hester  stood,  a  small  vacant  area  —  a  sort  of 
magic  circle  —  had  formed  itself  about  her,  into  which,  though 
the  people  were  elbowing  one  another  at  a  little  distance,  none 
ventured,  or  felt  disposed  to  intrude.  It  was  a  forcible  type  of 
the  moral  solitude  in  which  the  scarlet  letter  enveloped  its  fated 
wearer;  partly  by  her  own  reserve,  and  partly  by  the  instinc- 
tive, though  no  longer  so  unkindly,  withdrawal  of  her  fellow- 
creatures.  Now,  if  never  before,  it  answered  a  good  purpose, 
by  enabling  Hester  and  the  seaman  to  speak  together  without 
risk  of  being  overheard;  and  so  changed  was  Hester  Prynne's 
repute  before  the  public,  that  the  matron  in  town  most  eminent 
for  rigid  morality  could  not  have  held  such  intercourse  with  less 
result  of  scandal  than  herself. 

"So,  mistress,"  said  the  mariner,  "I, must  bid  the  steward 
make  ready  one  more  berth  than  you  bargained  fort  No  fear 
of    scurvy   or  ship-fever,  this  voyage!     What  with   the    ship's 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY. 


287 


surgeon  and  this  other  doctor,  our  only  danger  will  be  from 
drug  or  pill;  more  by  token,  as  there  is  a  lot  of  apothecary's 
stuff  aboard,  which  I  traded  for  with  a  Spanish  vessel." 

"What  mean  you?"  inquired  Hester,  startled  more  than  she 
permitted  to  appear.     "  Have  you  another  passenger  ?  ** 

"  Why,  know  you  not,"  cried  the  shipmaster,  "  that  this  phy- 
sician here  —  Chilling  worth,  he  calls  himself  —  is  minded  to  try 
my  cabin-fare  with  you  ? 
Ay,  ay,  you  must  have 
known  it;  for  he  tells 
me  he  is  of  your  party, 
and  a  close  friend  to  the 
gentleman  you  spoke  of, 
—  he  that  is  in  peril 
from  these  sour  old  Pu- 
ritan rulers ! " 

"  They  know  each 
other  well,  indeed,"  re- 
plied Hester,  with  a 
mien  of  calmness,  though 
in  the  utmost  conster- 
nation.    "They  have  long  dwelt  together." 

Nothing  further  passed  between  the  mariner  and  Hester  Prynne. 
But,  at  that  instant,  she  beheld  old  Eoger  Chillingworth  himself, 
standing  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  market-place,  and  smiling 
on  her;  a  smile  which  —  across  the  wide  and  bustling  square, 
and  through  all  the  talk  and  laughter,  and  various  thoughts, 
moods,  and  interests  of  the  crowd  —  conveyed  secret  and  fearful 
meaning. 


XXII. 


THE    PROCESSION. 


^EFORE  Hester  Prynne  could  call  together  her 
thoughts,  and  consider  what  was  practicable 
to  be  done  in  this  new  and  startling  aspect 
of  affairs,  the  sound  of  military  music  was 
heard  approaching  along  a  contiguous  street. 
It  denoted  the  advance  of  the  procession  of 
magistrates  and  citizens,  on  its  way  towards  the  meeting-house ; 
where,  in  compliance  with  a  custom  thus  early  established,  and 
ever  since  observed,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  to  deliver 
an  Election  Sermon. 

Soon  the  head  of  the  procession  showed  itself,  with  a  slow 
and  stately  march,  turning  a  corner,  and  making  its  way  across 
the  market-place.  First  came  the  music.  It  comprised  a  variety 
of  intruments,  perhaps  imperfectly  adapted  to  one  another,  and 
played  with  no  great  skill;  but  yet  attaining  the  great  object 
for  which  the  harmony  of  drum  and  clarion  addresses  itself  to 
the  multitude,  —  that  of  imparting  a  higher  and  more  heroic  air 
to  the  scene  of  life  that  passes  before  the  eye.  Little  Pearl  at 
first  clapped  her  hands,  but  then  lost,  for  an  instant,  the  rest- 


THE    PROCESSION. 


289 


less  agitation  that  had  kept  her  in  a  continual  effervescence 
throughout  the  morning;  she  gazed  silently,  and  seemed  to  be 
borne  upward,  like  a  floating  sea-bird,  on  the  long  heaves  and 
swells  of  sound.  But  she  was  brought  back  to  her  former 
mood  by  the  shimmer  of  the  sunshine  on  the  weapons  and  bright 
armor  of  the  military  company,  which  followed  after  the  music, 
and  formed  the  honorary  escort  of  the  procession.  This  body 
of  soldiery  —  which  still  sustains  a  corporate  existence,  and 
marches  down  from  past  ages  with  an  ancient  and  honorable 
fame  —  was   composed   of   no   mercenary   materials.      Its    ranks 


were  filled  with 
gentlemen,  who 
felt  the  stirrings 
of  martial  im- 
pulse, and  sought 
to  establish  a 
kind  of  College  of  Arms,  where,  as  in  an  association  of  Knights 
Templars,  they  might  learn  the  science,  and,  so  far  as  peaceful 
exercise  would  teach  them,  the  practices  of  war.  The  high 
estimation   then    placed   upon   the    military    character    might   be 


290  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

seen  in  the  lofty  port  of  each  individual  member  of  the  company. 
Some  of  them,  indeed,  by  their  services  in  the  Low  Countries 
and  on  other  fields  of  European  warfare,  had  fairly  won  their 
title  to  assume  the  name  and  pomp  of  soldiership.  The  entire 
array,  moreover,  clad  in  burnished  steel,  and  with  plumage  nod- 
ding over  their  bright  morions,  had  a  brilliancy  of  effect  which 
no  modern  display  can  aspire  to  equal. 

And  yet  the  men  of  civil  eminence,  who  came  immediately 
behind  the  military  escort,  were  better  worth  a  thoughtful 
observer's  eye.  Even  in  outward  demeanor,  they  showed  a  stamp 
of  majesty  that  made  the  warrior's  haughty  stride  look  vulgar, 
if  not  absurd.  It  was  an  age  when  what  we  call  talent  had 
far  less  consideration  than  now,  but  the  massive  materials  which 
produce  stability  and  dignity  of  character  a  great  deal  more. 
The  people  possessed,  by  hereditary  right,  the  quality  of  rever- 
ence; which,  in  their  descendants,  if  it  survive  at  all,  exists  in 
smaller  proportion,  and  with  a  vastly  diminished  force,  in  the 
selection  and  estimate  of  public  men.  The  change  may  be  for 
good  or  ill,  and  is  partly,  perhaps,  for  both.  In  that  old  day, 
the  English  settler  on  these  rude  shores  —  having  left  king, 
nobles,  and  all  degrees  of  awful  rank  behind,  while  still  the 
faculty  and  necessity  of  reverence  were  strong  in  him  —  bestowed 
it  on  the  white  hair  and  venerable  brow  of  age ;  on  long-tried 
integrity  j  on  solid  wisdom  and  sad-colored  experience ;  on 
endowments  of  that  grave  and  weighty  order  which  gives  the 
idea  of  permanence,  and  comes  under  the  general  definition  of 
respectability.  These  primitive  statesmen,  therefore,  —  Bradstreet, 
Endicott,  Dudley,  Bellingham,  and  their  compeers,  —  who  were 
elevated  to  power  by  the  early  choice  of  the  people,  seem  to 
have  been  not  often  brilliant,  but  distinguished  by  a  ponderous 


THE  PROCESSION.  291 

sobriety,  rather  than  activity  of  intellect.  They  had  fortitude 
and  self-reliance,  and,  in  time  of  difficulty  or  peril,  stood  up 
for  the  welfare  of  the  state  like  a  line  of  cliffs  against  a  tem- 
pestuous tide.  The  traits  of  character  here  indicated  were  well 
represented  in  the  square  cast  of  countenance  and  large  physical 
development  of  the  new  colonial  magistrates.  So  far  as  a 
demeanor  of  natural  authority  was  concerned,  the  mother  country 
need  not  have  been  ashamed  to  see  these  foremost  men  of  an 
actual  democracy  adopted  into  the  House  of  Peers,  or  made 
the  Privy  Council  of  the  sovereign. 

Next  in  order  to  the  magistrates  came  the  young  and  emi- 
nently distinguished  divine,  from  whose  lips  the  religious  dis- 
course of  the  anniversary  was  expected.  His  was  the  profession, 
at  that  era,  in  which  intellectual  ability  displayed  itself  far  more 
than  in  political  life;  for  —  leaving  a  higher  motive  out  of  the 
question — it  offered  inducements  powerful  enough,  in  the  almost 
worshipping  respect  of  the  community,  to  win  the  most  aspiring 
ambition  into  its  service.  Even  political  power  —  as  in  the  case 
of  Increase  Mather — was  within  the  grasp  of  a  successful  priest. 

It  was  the  observation  of  those  who  beheld  him  now,  that 
never,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  first  set  his  foot  on  the  New 
England  shore,  had  he  exhibited  such  energy  as  was  seen  in  the 
gait  and  air  with  which  he  kept  his  pace  in  the  procession. 
There  was  no  feebleness  of  step,  as  at  other  times ;  his  frame 
was  not  bent;  nor  did  his  hand  rest  ominously  upon  his  heart. 
Yet,  if  the  clergyman  were  rightly  viewed,  his  strength  seemed 
not  of  the  body.  It  might  be  spiritual,  and  imparted  to  him 
by  angelic  ministrations.  It  might  be  the  exhilaration  of  that 
potent  cordial,  which  is  distilled  only  in  the  furnace-glow  of 
earnest  and  long-continued  thought.     Or,  perchance,  his  sensitive 


292  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

temperament  was  invigorated  by  the  loud  and  piercing  music, 
that  swelled  heavenward,  and  uplifted  him  on  its  ascending  wave. 
Nevertheless,  so  abstracted  was  his  look,  it  might  be  questioned 
whether  Mr.  Dimmesdale  even  heard  the  music.  There  was  his 
body,  moving  onward,  and  with  an  unaccustomed  force.  But 
where  was  his  mind  ?  Far  and  deep  in  its  own  region,  busying 
itself,  with  preternatural  activity,  to  marshal  a  procession  of 
stately  thoughts  that  were  soon  to  issue  thence;  and  so  he  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  knew  nothing,  of  what  was  around  him ; 
but  the  spiritual  element  took  up  the  feeble  frame,  and  carried 
it  along,  unconscious  of  the  burden,  and  converting  it  to  spirit 
like  itself.  Men  of  uncommon  intellect,  who  have  grown  morbid, 
possess  this  occasional  power  of  mighty  effort,  into  which  they 
throw  the  life  of  many  days,  and  then  are  lifeless  for  as  many 
more. 

Hester  Prynne,  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  clergyman,  felt  a 
dreary  influence  come  over  her,  but  wherefore  or  whence  she 
knew  not;  unless  that  he  seemed  so  remote  from  her  own 
sphere,  and  utterly  beyond  her  reach.  One  glance  of  recogni- 
tion, she  had  imagined,  must  needs  pass  between  them.  She 
thought  of  the  dim  forest,  with  its  little  dell  of  solitude,  and 
love,  and  anguish,  and  the  mossy  tree-trunk,  where,  sitting  hand 
in  hand,  they  had  mingled  their  sad  and  passionate  talk  with 
the  melancholy  murmur  of  the  brook.  How  deeply  had  they 
known  each  other  then  !  And  was  this  the  man  ?  She  hardly 
knew  him  now!  He,  moving  proudly  past,  enveloped,  as  it 
were,  in  the  rich  music,  with  the  procession  of  majestic  and 
venerable  fathers;  he,  so  unattainable  in  his  worldly  position, 
and  still  more  so  in  that  far  vista  of  his  unsympathizing 
thoughts,  through  which  she  now  beheld  him  !     Her  spirit  sank 


THE   PROCESSION.  293 

with  the  idea  that  all  must  have  been  a  delusion,  and  that, 
vividly  as  she  had  dreamed  it,  there  could  be  no  real  bond 
betwixt  the  clergyman  and  herself.  And  thus  much  of  woman 
was  there  in  Hester,  that  she  could  scarcely  forgive  him,  — 
least  of  all  now,  when  the  heavy  footstep  of  their  approaching 
Fate  might  be  heard,  nearer,  nearer,  nearer !  —  for  being  able 
so  completely  to  withdraw  himself  from  their  mutual  world ; 
while  she  groped  darkly,  and  stretched  forth  her  cold  hands, 
and  found  him  not. 

Pearl  either  saw  and  responded  to  her  mother's  feelings,  or 
herself  felt  the  remoteness  and  intangibility  that  had  fallen 
around  the  minister.  "While  the  procession  passed,  the  child 
was  uneasy,  fluttering  up  and  down,  like  a  bird  on  the  point 
of  taking  flight.  When  the  whole  had  gone  by,  she  looked  up 
into  Hester's  face. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  was  that  the  same  minister  that  kissed 
me  by  the  brook?" 

"Hold  thy  peace,  dear  little  Pearl!"  whispered  her  mother. 
"We  must  not  always  talk  in  the  market-place  of  what  hap- 
pens to  us  in  the  forest." 

"I  could  not  be  sure  that  it  was  he;  so  strange  he  looked," 
continued  the  child.  "Else  I  would  have  run  to  him,  and  bid 
him  kiss  me  now,  before  all  the  people ;  even  as  he  did  yonder 
among  the  dark  old  trees.  What  would  the  minister  have  said, 
mother?  Would  he  have  clapped  his  hand  over  his  heart,  and 
scowled  on  me,  and  bid  me  be  gone  ? " 

"  What  should  he  say,  Pearl,"  answered  Hester,  "  save  that 
it  was  no  time  to  kiss,  and  that  kisses  are  not  to  be  given  in 
the  market-place?  Well  for  thee,  foolish  child,  that  thou  didst 
not  speak  to  him !  " 


294  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

Another  shade  of  the  same  sentiment,  in  reference  to  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  was  expressed  by  a  person  whose  eccentricities  — 
or  insanity,  as  we  should  term  it  —  led  her  to  do  what  few  of 
the  towns-people  would  have  ventured  on;  to  begin  a  conversa- 
tion with  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter,  in  public.  It  was 
Mistress  Hibbins,  who,  arrayed  in  great  magnificence,  with  a 
triple  ruff,  a  broidered  stomacher,  a  gown  of  rich  velvet,  and 
a  gold-headed  cane,  had  come  forth  to  see  the  procession.  As 
this  ancient  lady  had  the  renown  (which  subsequently  cost  her 
no  less  a  price  than  her  life)  *of  being  a  principal  actor  in  all 
the  works  of  necromancy  that  were  continually  going  forward, 
the  crowd  gave  way  before  her,  and  seemed  to  fear  the  touch 
of  her  garment,  as  if  it  carried  the  plague  among  its  gorgeous 
folds.  Seen  in  conjunction  with  Hester  Prynne,  —  kindly  as  so 
many  now  felt  towards  the  latter,  —  the  dread  inspired  by  Mis- 
tress Hibbins  was  doubled,  and  caused  a  general  movement 
from  that  part  of  the  market-place  in  which  the  two  women 
stood. 

"  Now,  what  mortal  imagination  could  conceive  it ! n  whis- 
pered the  old  lady,  confidentially,  to  Hester.  "Yonder  divine 
man !  That  saint  on  earth,  as  the  people  uphold  him  to  be, 
and  as  —  I  must  needs  say  —  he  really  looks  !  Who,  now,  that 
saw  him  pass  in  the  procession,  would  think  how  little  while  it 
is  since  he  went  forth  out  of  his  study, —  chewing  a  Hebrew 
text  of  Scripture  in  his  mouth,  I  warrant,  —  to  take  an  airing 
in  the  forest !  Aha !  we  know  what  that  means,  Hester  Prynne  ! 
But,  truly,  forsooth,  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  him  the  same 
man.  Many  a  church-member  saw  I,  walking  behind  the  music, 
that  has  danced  in  the  same  measure  with  me,  when  Somebody 
was  fiddler,  and,  it  might  be,  an  Indian  powwow  or  a  Lapland 


THE   PROCESSION.  295 

wizard  changing  hands  with  us !  That  is  but  a  trifle,  when  a 
woman  knows  the  world.  But  this  minister!  Couldst  thou 
surely  tell,  Hester,  whether  he  was  the  same  man  that  encoun- 
tered thee  on  the  forest-path?" 

"Madam,  I  know  not  of  what  you  speak,"  answered  Hester 
Prynne,  feeling  Mistress  Hibbins  to  be  of  infirm  mind;  yet 
strangely  startled  and  awe-stricken  by  the  confidence  with  which 
she  affirmed  a  personal  connection  between  so  many  persons  (her- 
self among  them)  and  the  Evil  One.  "It  is  not  for  me  to 
talk  lightly  of  a  learned  and  pious  minister  of  the  Word,  like 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale ! " 

"  Fie,  woman,  fie ! "  cried  the  old  lady,  shaking  her  finger  at 
Hester.  "Dost  thou  think  I  have  been  to  the  forest  so  many 
times,  and  have  yet  no  skill  to  judge  who  else  has  been  there? 
Yea;  though  no  leaf  of  the  wild  garlands,  which  they  wore 
while  they  danced,  be  left  in  their  hair!  I  know  thee,  Hester; 
for  I  behold  the  token.  We  may  all  see  it  in  the  sunshine; 
and  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  in  the  dark.  Thou  wearest  it 
openly;  so  there  need  be  no  question  about  that.  But  this 
minister !  Let  me  tell  thee,  in  thine  ear !  When  the  Black 
Man  sees  one  of  his  own  servants,  signed  and  sealed,  so  shy 
of  owning  to  the  bond  as  is  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  he 
hath  a  way  of  ordering  matters  so  that  the  mark  shall  be  dis- 
closed in  open  daylight  to  the  eyes  of  all  the  world !  What  is 
it  that  the  minister  seeks  to  hide,  with  his  hand  always  over 
his  heart  ?     Ha,  Hester  Prynne ! n 

"  What  is  it,  good  Mistress  Hibbins  ? "  eagerly  asked  little 
Pearl.     "  Hast  thou  seen  it  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  darling ! M  responded  Mistress  Hibbins,  making 
Pearl  a  profound  reverence.     "  Thou  thyself  wilt  see  it,  one  time 


296         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

or  another.  They  say,  child,  thou  art  of  the  lineage  of  the 
Prince  of  the  Air!  Wilt  thou  ride  with  ine,  some  fine  night, 
to  see  thy  father?  Then  thou  shalt  know  wherefore  the  minister 
keeps  his  hand  over  his  heart  \" 

Laughing  so  shrilly  that  all  the  market-place  could  hear  her, 
the  weird  old  gentlewoman  took  her  departure. 

By  this  time  the  preliminary  prayer  had  been  offered  in  the 
meeting-house,  and  the  accents  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dirames- 
dale  were  heard  commencing  his  discourse.  An  irresistible  feel- 
ing kept  Hester  near  the  spot.  As  the  sacred  edifice  was  too 
much  thronged  to  admit  another  auditor,  she  took  up  her  posi- 
tion close  beside  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory.  It  was  in  sufficient 
proximity  to  bring  the  whole  sermon  to  her  ears,  in  the  shape 
of  an  indistinct,  but  varied,  murmur  and  flow  of  the  minister's 
very  peculiar  voice. 

This  vocal  organ  was  in  itself  a  rich  endowment;  insomuch 
that  a  listener,  comprehending  nothing  of  the  language  in  which 
the  preacher  spoke,  might  still  have  been  swayed  to  and  fro  by 
the  mere  tone  and  cadence.  Lite  all  other  music,  it  breathed 
passion  and  pathos,  and  emotions  high  or  tender,  in  a  tongue 
native  to  the  human  heart,  wherever  educated.  Muffled  as  the 
sound  was  by  its  passage  through  the  church-walls,  Hester 
Prynne  listened  with  such  intentness,  and  sympathized  so  inti- 
mately, that  the  sermon  had  throughout  a  meaning  for  her, 
entirely  apart  from  its  indistinguishable  words.  These,  perhaps, 
if  more  distinctly  heard,  might  have  been  only  a  grosser  medium, 
and  have  clogged  the  spiritual  sense.  Now  she  caught  the  low 
undertone,  as  of  the  wind  sinking  down  to  repose  itself;  then 
ascended  with  it,  as  it  rose  through  progressive  gradations  of 
sweetness  and  power,   until  its   volume   seemed  to   envelop  her 


THE   PROCESSION.  297 

with  an  atmosphere  of  awe  and  solemn  grandeur.  And  yet, 
majestic  as  the  voice  sometimes  became,  there  was  forever  in  it 
an  essential  character  of  plaintiveness.  A  loud  or  low  expres- 
sion of  anguish,  —  the  whisper,  or  the  shriek,  as  it  might  be 
conceived,  of  suffering  humanity,  that  touched  a  sensibility  in 
every  bosom !  At  times  this  deep  strain  of  pathos  was  all  that 
could  be  heard,  and  scarcely  heard,  sighing  amid  a  desolate 
silence.  But  even  when  the  minister's  voice  grew  high  and 
commanding,  —  when  it  gushed  irrepressibly  upward,  —  when  it 
assumed  its  utmost  breadth  and  power,  so  overfilling  the  church 
as  to  burst  its  way  through  the  solid  walls,  and  diffuse  itself  in 
the  open  air,  —  still,  if  the  auditor  listened  intently,  and  for  the 
purpose,  he  could  detect  the  same  cry  of  pain.  What  was  it? 
The  complaint  of  a  human  heart,  sorrow-laden,  perchance  guilty, 
telling  its  secret,  whether  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to  the  great  heart 
of  mankind;  beseeching  its  sympathy  or  forgiveness,  —  at  every 
moment,  —  in  each  accent,  —  and  never  in  vain  !  It  was  this 
profound  and  continual  undertone  that  gave  the  clergyman  his 
most  appropriate  power. 

During  all  this  time,  Hester  stood,  statue-like,  at  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold.  If  the  minister's  voice  had  not  kept  her  there, 
there  would  nevertheless  have  been  an  inevitable  magnetism  in 
that  spot,  whence  she  dated  the  first  hour  of  her  life  of  ignominy. 
There  was  a  sense  within  her,  —  too  ill-defined  to  be  made  a 
thought,  but  weighing  heavily  on  her  mind,  —  that  her  whole 
orb  of  life,  both  before  and  after,  was  connected  with  this  spot, 
as  with  the  one  point  that  gave  it  unity. 

Little  Pearl,  meanwhile,  had  quitted  her  mother's  side,  and 
was  playing  at  her  own  will  about  the  market-place.  She  made 
the  sombre    crowd  cheerful   by  her   erratic   and   glistening  ray; 


298  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

even  as  a  bird  of  bright  plumage  illuminates  a  whole  tree  of 
dusky  foliage,  by  darting  to  and  fro,  half  seen  and  half  con- 
cealed amid  the  twilight  of  the  clustering  leaves.  She  had  an 
undulating,  but,  oftentimes,  a  sharp  and  irregular  movement.  It 
indicated  the  restless  vivacity  of  her  spirit,  which  to-day  was 
doubly  indefatigable  in  its  tiptoe  dance,  because  it  was  played 
upon  and  vibrated  with  her  mother's  disquietude.  Whenever 
Pearl  saw  anything  to  excite  her  ever-active  and  wandering 
curiosity,  she  flew  thitherward  and,  as  we  might  say,  seized 
upon  that  man  or  thing  as  her  own  property,  so  far  as  she 
desired  it;  but  without  yielding  the  minutest  degree  of  control 
over  her  motions  in  requital.  The  Puritans  looked  on,  and,  if 
they  smiled,  were  none  the  less  inclined  to  pronounce  the  child 
a  demon  offspring,  from  the  indescribable  charm  of  beauty  and 
eccentricity  that  shone  through  her  little  figure,  and  sparkled 
with  its  activity.  She  ran  and  looked  the  wild  Indian  in  the 
face;  and  he  grew  conscious  of  a  nature  wilder  than  his  own. 
Thence,  with  native  audacity,  but  still  with  a  reserve  as  charac- 
teristic, she  flew  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  mariners,  the 
swarthy-cheeked  wild  men  of  the  ocean,  as  the  Indians  were  of 
the  land;  and  they  gazed  wonderingly  and  admiringly  at  Pearl, 
as  if  a  flake  of  the  sea-foam  had  taken  the  shape  of  a  little 
maid,  and  were  gifted  with  a  soul  of  the  sea-fire,  that  flashes 
beneath  the  prow  in  the  night-time. 

One  of  these  seafaring  men  —  the  shipmaster,  indeed,  who  had 
spoken  to  Hester  Prynne  —  was  so  smitten  with  Pearl's  aspect, 
that  he  attempted  to  lay  hands  upon  her,  with  purpose  to  snatch 
a  kiss.  Finding  it  as  impossible  to  touch  her  as  to  catch  a 
humming-bird  in  the  air,  he  took  from  his  hat  the  gold  chain 
that  was    twisted   about  it,  and   threw   it   to   the   child.     Pearl 


THE   PROCESSION.  299 

immediately  twined  it  around  her  neck  and  waist,  with  such 
happy  skill,  that,  once  seen  there,  it  became  a  part  of  her,  and 
it  was  difficult  to  imagine  her  without  it. 

"  Thy  mother  is  yonder  woman  with  the  scarlet  letter/'  said 
the  seaman.     "  Wilt  thou  carry  her  a  message  from  me  ? " 

"  If  the  message  pleases  me,  I  will,"  answered  Pearl. 

"  Then  tell  her,"  rejoined  he,  "  lint  I  spake  again  with  the 
black-a-visaged,  hump-shouldered  old  doctor,  and  he  engages  to 
bring  his  friend,  the  gentleman  she  wots  of,  aboard  with  him. 
So  let  thy  mother  take  no  thought,  save  for  herself  and  thee. 
Wilt  thou  tell  her  this,  thou  witch-baby  ?  n 

"  Mistress  Hibbins  says  my  father  is  the  Prince  of  the  Air ! " 
cried  Pearl,  with  a  naughty  smile.  "  If  thou  callest  me  that 
ill  name,  I  shall  tell  him  of  thee ;  and  he  will  chase  thy  ship 
with  a  tempest ! " 

Pursuing  a  zigzag  course  across  the  market-place,  the  child 
returned  to  her  mother,  and  communicated  what  the  mariner 
had  said.  Hester's  strong,  calm,  steadfastly  enduring  spirit 
almost  sank,  at  last,  on  beholding  this  dark  and  grim  counte- 
nance of  an  inevitable  doom,  which  —  at  the  moment  when  a 
passage  seemed  to  open  for  the  minister  and  herself  out  of 
their  labyrinth  of  misery  —  showed  itself,  with  an  unrelenting 
smile,  right  in  the  midst  of  their  path. 

With  her  mind  harassed  by  the  terrible  perplexity  in  which 
the  shipmaster's  intelligence  involved  her,  she  was  also  subjected 
to  another  trial.  There  were  many  people  present,  from  the 
country  round  about,  who  had  often  heard  of  the  scarlet  letter, 
and  to  whom  it  had  been  made  terrific  by  a  hundred  false  or 
exaggerated  rumors,  but  who  had  never  beheld  it  with  their 
own  bodily  eyes.     These,  after  exhausting  other  modes  of  amuse- 


300         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ment,  now  thronged  about  Heater  Prynne  with  rude  and  boorish 
intrusiveness.  Unscrupulous  as  it  was,  however,  it  could  not 
bring  them  nearer  than  a  circuit  of  several  yards.  At  that  dis- 
tance they  accordingly  stood,  fixed  there  by  the  centrifugal  force 
of  the  repugnance  which  the  mystic  symbol  inspired.  The  whole 
gang  of  sailors,  likewise,  observing  the  press  of  spectators,  and 
learning  the  purport  of  the  scarlet  letter,  came  and  thrust  their 
sunburnt  and  desperado-looking  faces  into  the  ring.  Even  the 
Indians  were  affected  by  a  sort  of  cold  shadow  of  the  white 
man's  curiosity,  and,  gliding  through  the  crowd,  fastened  their 
snake-like  black  eyes  on  Hester's  bosom;  conceiving,  perhaps, 
that  the  wearer  of  this  brilliantly  embroidered  badge  must  needs 
be  a  personage  of  high  dignity  among  her  people.  Lastly 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  (their  own  interest  in  this  worn- 
out  subject  languidly  reviving  itself,  by  sympathy  with  what 
they  saw  others  feel)  lounged  idly  to  the  same  quarter, 
and  tormented  Hester  Prynne,  perhaps  more  than  all  the  rest, 
with  their  cool,  well-acquainted  gaze  at  her  familiar  shame. 
Hester  saw  and  recognized  the  selfsame  faces  of  that  group 
of  matrons,  who  had  awaited  her  forthcoming  from  the  prison- 
door,  seven  years  ago ;  all  save  one,  the  youngest  and  only 
compassionate  among  them,  whose  burial-robe  she  had  since 
made.  At  the  final  hour,  when  she  was  so  soon  to  fling  aside 
the  burning  letter,  it  had  strangely  become  the  centre  of  more 
remark  and  excitement,  and  was  thus  made  to  sear  her  breast 
more  painfully,  than  at  any  time  since  the  first  day  she  put 
it  on. 

While  Hester  stood  in  that  magic  circle  of  ignominy,  where 
the  cunning  cruelty  of  her  sentence  seemed  to  have  fixed  her 
forever,    the   admirable   preacher  was    looking    down   from   the 


THE    PROCESSION. 


301 


sacred  pulpit  upon  an  audience  whose  very  inmost  spirits  had 
yielded  to  his  control.  The  sainted  minister  in  the  church ! 
The  woman  of  the  scarlet  letter  in  the  market-place !  What 
imagination  would  have  been  irreverent  enough  to  surmise  that 
the  same  scorching  stigma  was  on  them  both ! 


XXIII. 


THE   REVELATION  OP   THE   SCARLET  LETTER. 


HE  eloquent  voice,  on   which  the  souls   of 
the  listening  audience  had  been  borne  aloft 


X4£/  as  on  the  swelling  waves  of  the  sea,  at 
length  came  to  a  pause.  There  was  a 
)^  momentary  silence,  profound  as  what  should 
follow  the  utterance  of  oracles.  Then  en- 
sued a  murmur  and  half-hushed  tumult;  as  if  the  auditors, 
released  from  the  high  spell  that  had  transported  them  into  the 
region  of  another's  mind,  were  returning  into  themselves,  with 
all  their  awe  and  wonder  still  heavy  on  them.  In  a  moment 
more,  the  crowd  began  to  gush  forth  from  the  doors  of  the 
church.  Now  that  there  was  an  end,  they  needed  other  breath, 
more  fit  to  support  the  gross  and  earthly  life  into  which  they 
relapsed,  than  that  atmosphere  Avhich  the  preacher  had  con- 
verted into  words  of  flame,  and  had  burdened  with  the  rich 
fragrance   of  his   thought. 

In  the  open  air  their  rapture  broke  into  speech.      The  street 
and  the  market-place  absolutely  babbled,  from  side  to  side,  with 


THE   REVELATION   OF   THE   SCARLET   LETTER.    303 

applauses  of  the  minister.  His  hearers  could  not  rest  until  they 
had  told  one  another  of  what  each  knew  better  than  he  could 
tell  or  hear.  According  to  their  united  testimony,  never  had 
man  spoken  in  so  wise,  so  high,  and  so  holy  a  spirit,  as  he 
that  spake  this  day;  nor  had  inspiration  ever  breathed  through 
mortal  lips  more  evidently  than  it  did  through  his.  Its  influ- 
ence could  be  seen,  as  it  were,  descending  upon  him,  and 
possessing  him,  and  continually  lifting  him  out  of  the  written 
discourse  that  lay  before  him,  and  filling  him  with  ideas  that 
must  have  been  as  marvellous  to  himself  as  to  his  audience. 
His  subject,  it  appeared,  had  been  the  relation  between  the  Deity 
and  the  communities  of  mankind,  with  a  special  reference  to  the 
New  England  which  they  were  here  planting  in  the  wilderness. 
And,  as  he  drew  towards  the  close,  a  spirit  as  of  prophecy 
had  come  upon  him,  constraining  him  to  its  purpose  as  mightily 
as  the  old  prophets  of  Israel  were  constrained;  only  with  this 
difference,  that,  whereas  the  Jewish  seers  had  denounced  judg- 
ments and  ruin  on  their  country,  it  was  his  mission  to  foretell 
a  high  and  glorious  destiny  for  the  newly  gathered  people  of 
the  Lord.  But,  throughout  it  all,  and  through  the  whole  dis- 
course, there  had  been  a  certain  deep,  sad  undertone  of  pathos, 
which  could  not  be  interpreted  otherwise  than  as  the  natural 
regret  of  one  soon  to  pass  away.  Yes ;  their  minister  whom 
they  so  loved  —  and  who  so  loved  them  all,  that  he  could  not 
depart  heavenward  without  a  sigh  —  had  the  foreboding  of 
untimely  death  upon  him,  and  would  soon  leave  them  in  their 
tears !  This  idea  of  his  transitory  stay  on  earth  gave  the  last 
emphasis  to  the  effect  which  the  preacher  had  produced ;  it  was 
as  if  an  angel,  in  his  passage  to  the  skies,  had  shaken  his 
bright  wings  over  the  people  for  an  instant,  —  at  once  a  shadow 


304         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  a  splendor,  —  and  had  shed  down  a  shower  of  golden  truths 
upon  them. 

Thus,  there  had  come  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimraesdale  — 
as  to  most  men,  in  their  various  spheres,  though  seldom  recog- 
nized until  the j  see  it  far  behind  them  —  an  epoch  of  life  more 
brilliant  and  full  of  triumph  than  any  previous  one,  or  than 
any  which  could  hereafter  be.  He  stood,  at  this  moment,  on 
the  very  proudest  eminence  of  superiority,  to  which  the  gifts 
of  intellect,  rich  lore,  prevailing  eloquence,  aud  a  reputation  of 
whitest  sanctity,  could  exalt  a  clergyman  in  New  England's  ear- 
liest days,  when  the  professional  character  was  of  itself  a  lofty 
pedestal.  Such  was  the  position  which  the  minister  occupied, 
as  he  bowed  his  head  forward  on  the  cushions  of  the  pulpit,  at 
the  close  of  his  Election  Sermon.  Meanwhile  Hester  Prynne 
was  standing  beside  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory,  with  the  scarlet 
letter  still  burning  on  her  breast! 

Now  was  heard  again  the  clangor  of  the  music,  and  the 
measured  tramp  of  the  military  escort,  issuing  from  the  church- 
door.  The  procession  was  to  be  marshalled  thence  to  the  town- 
hall,  where  a  solemn  banquet  would  complete  the  ceremonies  of 
the  day. 

Once  more,  therefore,  the  train  of  venerable  and  majestic 
fathers  was  seen  moving  through  a  broad  pathway  of  the  peo- 
ple, who  drew  back  reverently,  on  either  side,  as  the  Governor 
and  magistrates,  the  old  and  wise  men,  the  holy  ministers,  and 
all  that  were  eminent  and  renowned,  advanced  into  the  midst 
of  them.  When  they  were  fairly  in  the  market-place,  their 
presence  was  greeted  by  a  shout.  This  — though  doubtless  it 
might  acquire  additional  force  and  volume  from  the  childlike 
loyalty  which  the  age  awarded  to  its  rulers  — was  felt  to  be  an 


THE   REVELATION    OF   THE  SCARLET  LETTER.    305 

irrepressible  outburst  of  enthusiasm  kindled  in  the  auditors  by 
that  high  strain  of  eloquence  which  was  yet  reverberating  in  their 
ears.  Each  felt  the  impulse  in  himself,  and,  in  the  same  breath, 
caught  it  from  his  neighbor.  Within  the  church,  it  had  hardly 
been  kept  down;  beneath  the  sky,  it  pealed  upward  to  the 
zenith.  There  were  human  beings  enough,  and  enough  of 
highly  wrought  and  symphonious  feeling,  to  produce  that  more 
impressive  sound  than  the  organ  tones  of  the  blast,  or  the 
thunder,  or  the  roar  of  the  sea;  even  that  mighty  swell  of 
many  voices,  blended  into  one  great  voice  by  the  universal 
impulse  which  makes  likewise  one  vast  heart  out  of  the  many. 
Never,  from  the  soil  of  New  England,  had  gone  up  such  a 
shout !  Never,  on  New  England  soil,  had  stood  the  man  so 
honored  by  his  mortal  brethren  as  the  preacher! 

How  fared  it  with  him  then?  Were  there  not  the  brilliant 
particles  of  a  halo  in  the  air  about  his  head  ?  So  etherealized  by 
spirit  as  he  was,  and  so  apotheosized  by  worshipping  admirers, 
did  his  footsteps,  in  the  procession,  really  tread  upon  the  dust 
of  earth  ? 

As  the  ranks  of  military  men  and  civil  fathers  moved  onward, 
all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  point  where  the  minister  was 
seen  to  approach  among  them.  The  shout  died  into  a  murmur, 
as  one  portion  of  the  crowd  after  another  obtained  a  glimpse 
of  him.  How  feeble  and  pale  he  looked,  amid  all  his  triumph! 
The  energy  —  or  say,  rather,  the  inspiration  which  had  held 
him  up,  until  he  should  have  delivered  the  sacred  message  that 
brought  its  own  strength  along  with  it  from  heaven  —  was 
withdrawn,  now  that  it  had  so  faithfully  performed  its  office. 
The  glow,  which  they  had  just  before  beheld  burning  on  his 
cheek,   was  extinguished,    like   a   flame  that   sinks   down  hope- 


306         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

lessly  among  the  late-decaying  embers.  It  seemed  hardly  the 
face  of  a  man  alive,  with  such  a  deathlike  hue;  it  was  hardly 
a  man  with  life  in  him,  that  tottered  on  his  path  so  nervelessly, 
yet  tottered,  and  did  not  fall ! 

One  of  his  clerical  brethren,  —  it  was  the  venerable  John 
Wilson,  —  observing  the  state  in  which  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was 
left  by  the  retiring  wave  of  intellect  and  sensibility,  stepped 
forward  hastily  to  offer  his  support.  The  minister  tremulously, 
but  decidedly,  repelled  the  old  man's  arm.  He  still  walked 
onward,  if  that  movement  could  be  so  described,  which  rather 
resembled  the  wavering  effort  of  an  infant,  with  its  mother's 
arms  in  view,  outstretched  to  tempt  him  forward.  And  now, 
almost  imperceptible  as  were  the  latter  steps  of  his  progress, 
he  had  come  opposite  the  well-remembered  and  weather-darkened 
scaffold,  where,  long  since,  with  all  that  dreary  lapse  of  time 
between,  Hester  Prynne  had  encountered  the  world's  ignominious 
stare.  There  stood  Hester,  holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand! 
And  there  was  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast !  The  minister 
here  made  a  pause;  although  the  music  still  played  the  stately 
and  rejoicing  march  to  which  the  procession  moved.  It  sum- 
moned him  onward,  —  onward  to  the  festival !  —  but  here  he 
made  a  pause. 

Bellingham,  for  the  last  few  moments,  had  kept  an  anxious 
eye  upon  him.  He  now  left  his  own  place  in  the  procession, 
and  advanced  to  give  assistance;  judging,  from  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  aspect,  that  he  must  otherwise  inevitably  fall.  But  there 
was  something  in  the  tatter's  expression  that  warned  back  the 
magistrate,  although  a  man  not  readily  obeying  the  vague  inti- 
mations that  pass  from  one  spirit  to  another.  The  crowd,  mean- 
while, looked  on  with  awe  and  wonder.     This  earthly  faintness 


THE   REVELATION   OF   THE   SCARLET   LETTER.    307 

was,  in  their  view,  only  another  phase  of  the  minister's  celestial 
strength;  nor  would  it  have  seemed  a  miracle  too  high  to  be 
wrought  for  one  so  holy,  had  he  ascended  before  their  eyes, 
waxing  dimmer  and  brighter,  and  fading  at  last  into  the  light 
of  heaven. 

He  turned  towards  the  scaffold,  and  stretched  forth  his  arms. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  come  hither !     Come,  my  little  Pearl ! " 

It  was  a  ghastly  look  with  which  he  regarded  them;  but 
there  was  something  at  once  tender  and  strangely  triumphant  in 
it.  The  child,  with  the  bird-like  motion  which  was  one  of  her 
characteristics,  flew  to  him,  and  clasped  her  arms  about  his 
knees.  Hester  Prynne  —  slowly,  as  if  impelled  by  inevitable 
fate,  and  against  her  strongest  will  —  likewise  drew  near,  but 
paused  before  she  reached  him.  At  this  instant,  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  thrust  himself  through  the  crowd,  —  or,  perhaps, 
so  dark,  disturbed,  and  evil,  was  his  look,  he  rose  up  out  of 
some  nether  region,  —  to  snatch  back  his  victim  from  what  he 
sought  to  do  !  Be  that  as  it  might,  the  old  man  rushed  for- 
ward, and  caught  the  minister  by  the  arm. 

"  Madman,  hold !  what  is  your  purpose  ? "  whispered  he. 
"  Wave  back  that  woman  !  Cast  off  this  child  !  All  shall  be 
well !  Do  not  blacken  your  fame,  and  perish  in  dishonor !  I 
can  yet  save  you!  Would  you  bring  infamy  on  your  sacred 
profession  ?  " 

"  Ha,  tempter  !  Methinks  thou  art  too  late  !  "  answered  the 
minister,  encountering  his  eye,  fearfully,  but  firmly.  "  Thy 
power  is  not  what  it  was  !  With  God's  help,  I  shall  escape 
thee  now  !  " 

He  again  extended  his  hand  to  the  woman  of  the  scarlet  letter. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  cried  he,  with   a   piercing  earnestness,  u  in 


308         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  name  of  Him,  so  terrible  and  so  merciful,  who  gives  me 
grace,  at  this  last  moment,  to  do  what  —  for  my  own  heavy 
sin  and  miserable  agony  —  I  withheld  myself  from  doing  seven 
years  ago,  come  hither  now,  and  twine  thy  strength  about  me ! 
Thy  strength,  Hester;  but  let  it  be  guided  by  the  will  which 
God  hath  granted  me !  This  wretched  and  wronged  old  man  is 
opposing  it  with  all  his  might !  —  with  all  his  own  might,  and  the 
fiend's !     Come,  Hester,  come !     Support  me  up  yonder  scaffold !  " 

The  crowd  was  in  a  tumult.  The  men  of  rank  and  dignity, 
who  stood  more  immediately  around  the  clergyman,  were  so 
taken  by  surprise,  and  so  perplexed  as  to  the  purport  of  what 
they  saw,  —  unable  to  receive  the  explanation  which  most  readily 
presented  itself,  or  to  imagine  any  other,  —  that  they  remained 
silent  and  inactive  spectators  of  the  judgment  which  Providence 
seemed  about  to  work.  They  beheld  the  minister,  leaning  on 
Hester's  shoulder,  and  supported  by  her  arm  around  him, 
approach  the  scaffold,  and  ascend  its  steps ;  while  still  the  little 
hand  of  the  sin-born  child  was  clasped  in  his.  Old  Roger 
Chillingworth  followed,  as  one  intimately  connected  with  the 
drama  of  guilt  and  sorrow  in  which  they  had  all  been  actors, 
and  well  entitled,  therefore,  to  be  present  at  its  closing  scene. 

"Hadst  thou  sought  the  whole  earth  over,"  said  he,  looking 
darkly  at  the  clergyman,  "there  was  no  one  place  so  secret, — 
no  high  place  nor  lowly  place,  where  thou  couldst  have  escaped 
me, — save  on  this  very  scaffold!" 

"  Thanks  be  to  Him  who  hath  led  me  hither ! "  answered  the 
minister. 

Yet  he  trembled,  and  turned  to  Hester  with  an  expression  of 
doubt  and  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  not  the  less  evidently  betrayed, 
that  there  was  a  feeble  smile  upon  his  lips. 


THE    REVELATION    OF   THE    SCARLET   LETTER.    309 

"  Is  not  this  better/'  murmured  he,  "  than  what  we  dreamed 
of  in  the  forest  ?  " 

"  I  know  not !  I  know  not ! "  she  hurriedly  replied.  "  Bet- 
ter ?     Yea ;  so  we  may  both  die,  and  little  Pearl  die  with  us ! " 

"  For  thee  and  Pearl,  be  it  as  God  shall  order,"  said  the 
minister ;  "  and  God  is  merciful !  Let  me  now  do  the  will 
which  he  hath  made  plain  before  my  sight.  Eor,  Hester,  I  am  a 
dying  man.     So  let  me  make  haste  to  take  my  shame  upon  me !  " 

Partly  supported  by  Hester  Pryime,  and  holding  one  hand  of 
little  Pearl's,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  turned  to  the  dig- 
nified and  venerable  rulers;  to  the  holy  ministers,  who  were  his 
brethren;  to  the  people,  whose  great  heart  was  thoroughly 
appalled,  yet  overflowing  with  tearful  sympathy,  as  knowing  that 
some  deep  life-matter  —  which,  if  full  of  sin,  was  full  of  anguish 
and  repentance  likewise  —  was  now  to  be  laid  open  to  them. 
The  sun,  but  little  past  its  meridian,  shone  down  upon  the  clergy- 
man, and  gave  a  distinctness  to  his  figure,  as  he  stood  out  from 
all  the  earth,  to  put  in  his  plea  of  guilty  at  the  bar  of  Eternal 
Justice. 

"  People  of  New  England ! "  cried  he,  with  a  voice  that  rose 
over  them,  high,  solemn,  and  majestic,  —  yet  had  always  a  tremor 
through  it,  and  sometimes  a  shriek,  struggling  up  out  of  a 
fathomless  depth  of  remorse  and  woe,  — "  ye,  that  have  loved 
me !  —  ye,  that  have  deemed  me  holy  !  —  behold  me  here,  the 
one  sinner  of  the  world !  At  last !  —  at  last !  —  I  stand  upon  the 
spot  where,  seven  years  since,  I  should  have  stood;  here,  with 
this  woman,  whose  arm,  more  than  the  little  strength  where- 
with I  have  crept  hitherward,  sustains  me,  at  this  dreadful 
moment,  from  grovelling  down  upon  my  face !  Lo,  the  scarlet 
letter  which  Hester  wears  !     Ye  have  all  shuddered  at  it !     Wher- 


310  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

ever  her  walk  hath  been,  —  wherever,  so  miserably  burdened,  she 
may  have  hoped  to  find  repose,  — it  hath  cast  a  lurid  gleam  of 
awe  and  horrible  repugnance  round  about  her.  But  there  stood 
one  in  the  midst  of  you,  at  whose  brand  of  sin  and  infamy  ye 
have  not  shuddered \" 

It  seemed,  at  this  point,  as  if  the  minister  must  leave  the 
remainder  of  his  secret  undisclosed.  But  he  fought  back  the 
bodily  weakness,  —  and,  still  more,  the  faintness  of  heart,  —  that 
was  striving  for  the  mastery  with  him.  He  threw  off  all  assist- 
ance, and  stepped  passionately  forward  a  pace  before  the  woman 
and  the  child. 

"  It  was  on  him ! "  he  continued,  with  a  kind  of  fierceness ; 
so  determined  was  he  to  speak  out  the  whole.  "God's  eye 
beheld  it !  The  angels  were  forever  pointing  at  it !  The  Devil 
knew  it  well,  and  fretted  it  continually  with  the  touch  of  his 
burning  finger!  But  he  hid  it  cunningly  from  men,  and  walked 
among  you  with  the  mien  of  a  spirit,  mournful,  because  so  pure 
in  a  sinful  world !  —  and  sad,  because  he  missed  his  heavenly 
kindred !  Now,  at  the  death-hour,  he  stands  up  before  you ! 
He  bids  you  look  again  at  Hester's  scarlet  letter !  He  tells 
you,  that,  with  all  its  mysterious  horror,  it  is  but  the  shadow 
of  what  he  bears  on  his  own  breast,  and  that  even  this,  his  own 
red  stigma,  is  no  more  than  the  type  of  what  has  seared  his 
inmost  heart !  Stand  any  here  that  question  God's  judgment  on 
a  sinner  ?     Behold !     Behold  a  dreadful  witness  of  it !  M 

With  a  convulsive  motion,  he  tore  away  the  ministerial  band 
from  before  his  breast.  It  was  revealed  !  But  it  were  irrev- 
erent to  describe  that  revelation.  For  an  instant,  the  gaze  of 
the  horror-stricken  multitude  was  concentred  on  the  ghastly  mir- 
acle;   while  the  minister  stood,  with  a  flush  of  triumph  in  his 


THE   REVELATION   OF   THE   SCARLET   LETTER.    313 

face,  as  one  who,  in  the  crisis  of  acutest  pain,  had  won  a  victory. 
Then,  down  he  sank  upon  the  scaffold !  Hester  partly  raised 
him,  and  supported  his  head  against  her  bosom.  Old  Roger 
Chillingworth  knelt  down  beside  him,  with  a  blank,  dull  counte- 
nance, out  of  which  the  life  seemed  to  have  departed. 

"  Thou  hast  escaped  me ! "  he  repeated  more  than  once. 
"  Thou  hast  escaped  me ! " 

"  May  God  forgive  thee  !  "  said  the  minister.  "  Thou,  too, 
hast  deeply  sinned!" 

He  withdrew  his  dying  eyes  from  the  old  man,  and  fixed 
them  on  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  My  little  Pearl/'  said  he,  feebly,  —  and  there  was  a  sweet 
and  geutle  smile  over  his  face,  as  of  a  spirit  sinking  into  deep 
repose;  nay,  now  that  the  burden  was  removed,  it  seemed 
almost  as  if  he  would  be  sportive  with  the  child,  —  "dear  little 
Pearl,  wilt  thou  kiss  me  now?  Thou  wouldst  not,  yonder,  in 
the  forest !     But  now  thou  wilt  ?  " 

Pearl  kissed  his  lips.  A  spell  was  broken.  The  great  scene 
of  grief,  in  which  the  wild  infant  bore  a  part,  had  developed  all 
her  sympathies ;  and  as  her  tears  fell  upon  her  father's  cheek, 
they  were  the  pledge  that  she  would  grow  up  amid  human 
joy  and  sorrow,  nor  forever  do  battle  with  the  world,  but  be 
a  women  in  it.  Towards  her  mother,  too,  Pearl's  errand  as  a 
messenger  of  anguish  was  all  fulfilled. 

"  Hester,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  farewell ! " 

"  Shall  we  not  meet  again  ? "  whispered  she,  bending  her  face 
down  close  to  his.  "  Shall  we  not  spend  our  immortal  life 
together?  Surely,  surely,  we  have  ransomed  one  another,  with 
all  this  woe !  Thou  lookest  far  into  eternity,  with  those  bright 
dying  eyes  !     Then  tell  me  what  thou  seest  ?  " 


314 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


"  Hush,  Hester,  hush  !  "  said  he,  with  tremulous  solemnity. 
"  The  law  we  broke  !  —  the  sin  here  so  awfully  revealed  !  —  let 
these  alone  be  in  thy  thoughts  !  I  fear !  I  fear  !  It  may  be, 
that,  when  we  forgot  our  God,  —  when  we  violated  our  rever- 
ence each  for  the  other's  soul,  —  it  was  thenceforth  vain  to 
hope  that  we  could  meet  hereafter,  in  an  everlasting  and  pure 
reunion.  God  knows ;  and  He  is  merciful !  He  hath  proved 
his  mercy,  most  of  all,  in  my  afflictions.  By  giving  me  this 
burning  torture  to  bear  upon  my  breast !  By  sending  yonder 
dark  and  terrible  old  man,  to  keep  the  torture  always  at  red- 
heat  !  By  bringing  me  hither,  to  die  this  death  of  triumphant 
ignominy  before  the  people !  Had  either  of  these  agonies  been 
wanting,  I  had  been  lost  forever  !  Praised  be  his  name !  His 
will  be  done  !     Farewell !  " 

That  final  word  came  forth  with  the  minister's  expiring  breath. 
The  multitude,  silent  till  then,  broke  out  in  a  strange,  deep  voice 
of  awe  and  wonder,  which  could  not  as  yet  find  utterance,  save 
in  this  murmur  that  rolled  so  heavily  after  the  departed  spirit. 


XXIV. 


CONCLUSION. 


FTER  many  days,  when  time  sufficed  for  the 
people  to  arrange  their  thoughts  in  refer- 
ence to  the  foregoing  scene,  there  was  more 
than  one  account  of  what  had  been  wit- 
nessed  on   the   scaffold. 

Most  of  the  spectators  testified  to  having 
seen,  on  the  breast  of  the  unhappy  minister,  a  scarlet  letter 
—  the  very  semblance  of  that  worn  by  Hester  Prynne  —  imprinted 
in  the  flesh.  As  regarded  its  origin,  there  were  various  expla- 
nations, all  of  which  must  necessarily  have  been  conjectural. 
Some  affirmed  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  on  the  very 
day  when  Hester  Prynne  first  wore  her  ignominious  badge, 
had  begun  a  course  of  penance,  —  which  he  afterwards,  in 
so  many  futile  methods,  followed  out,  —  by  inflicting  a  hideous 
torture  on  himself.  'Others  contended  that  the  stigma  had 
not  been  produced  until  a  long  time  subsequent,  when  old 
Roger  Chillingworth,  being  a  potent  necromancer,  had  caused  it 
to  appear,  through   the   agency  of  magic   and   poisonous   drugs. 


316  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

Others,  again,  —  and  those  best  able  to  appreciate  the  minister's 
peculiar  sensibility,  and  the  wonderful  operation  of  his  spirit 
upon  the  body,  —  whispered  their  belief,  that  the  awful  symbol 
was  the  effect  of  the  ever-active  tooth  of  remorse,  gnawing  from 
the  inmost  heart  outwardly,  and  at  last  manifesting  Heaven's 
dreadful  judgment  by  the  visible  presence  of  the  letter.  The 
reader  may  choose  among  these  theories.  We  have  thrown  all 
the  light  we  could  acquire  upon  the  portent,  and  would  gladly, 
now  that  it  has  done  its  office,  erase  its  deep  print  out  of  our 
own  brain;  where  long  meditation  has  fixed  it  in  very  undesir- 
able distinctness. 

It  is  singular,  nevertheless,  that  certain  persons,  who  were 
spectators  of  the  whole  scene,  and  professed  never  once  to  have 
removed  their  eyes  from  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  denied 
that  there  was  any  mark  whatever  on  his  breast,  more  than  on 
a  new-born  infant's.  Neither,  by  their  report,  had  his  dying 
words  acknowledged,  nor  even  remotely  implied,  any,  the  slight- 
est connection,  on  his  part,  with  the  guilt  for  which  Hester 
Prynne  had  so  long  worn  the  scarlet  letter.  According  to  these 
highly  respectable  witnesses,  the  minister,  conscious  that  he  was 
dying,  —  conscious,  also,  that  the  reverence  of  the  multitude 
placed  him  already  among  saints  and  angels,  —  had  desired, 
by  yielding  up  his  breath  in  the  arms  of  that  fallen  woman,  to 
express  to  the  world  how  utterly  nugatory  is  the  choicest  of 
man's  own  righteousness.  After  exhausting  life  in  his  efforts 
for  mankind's  spiritual  good,  he  had  made  the  manner  of  his 
death  a  parable,  in  order  to  impress  on  his  admirers  the  mighty 
and  mournful  lesson,  that,  in  the  view  of  Infinite  Purity,  we 
are  sinners  all  alike.  It  was  to  teach  them,  that  the  holiest 
among  us  has  but  attained  so  far  above  his  fellows  as  to  dis- 


CONCLUSION.  317 

cern  more  clearly  the  Mercy  which  looks  down,  and  repudiate 
more  utterly  the  phantom  of  human  merit,  which  would  look 
aspiringly  upward.  "Without  disputing  a  truth  so  momentous, 
we  must  be  allowed  to  consider  this  version  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  story  as  only  an  instance  of  that  stubborn  fidelity  with 
which  a  man's  friends  —  and  especially  a  clergyman's  —  will  some- 
times uphold  his  character,  when  proofs,  clear  as  the  mid-day 
sunshine  on  the  scarlet  letter,  establish  him  a  false  and  sin- 
stained  creature  of  the  dust. 

The  authority  which  we  have  chiefly  followed,  —  a  manuscript 
of  old  date,  drawn  up  from  the  verbal  testimony  of  individuals, 
some  of  whom  had  known  Hester  Prynne,  while  others  had 
heard  the  tale  from  contemporary  witnesses,  —  fully  confirms  the 
view  taken  in  the  foregoing  pages.  Among  many  morals  which 
press  upon  us  from  the  poor  minister's  miserable  experience,  we 
put  only  this  into  a  sentence  :  —  "Be  true  !  Be  true  !  Be  true  ! 
Show  freely  to  the  world,  if  not  your  worst,  yet  some  trait 
whereby  the  worst  may  be  inferred  ! " 

Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  change  which  took 
place,  almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  death,  in  the 
appearance  and  demeanor  of  the  old  man  known  as  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth.  All  his  strength  and  energy  —  all  his  vital  and 
intellectual  force  —  seemed  at  once  to  desert  him \  insomuch 
that  he  positively  withered  up,  shrivelled  away,  and  almost 
vanished  from  mortal  sight,  like  an  uprooted  weed  that  lies 
wilting  in  the  sun.  This  unhappy  man  had  made  the  very 
principle  of  his  life  to  consist  in  the  pursuit  and  systematic 
exercise  of  revenge ;  and  when,  by  its  completest  triumph  and 
consummation,  that  evil  principle  was  left  with  no  further  material 
to  support   it,  when,  in   short,  there  was   no   more  Devil's  work 


3X8  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

on  earth  for  him  to  do,  it  only  remained  for  the  unhumanized 
mortal  to  betake  himself  whither  his  Master  would  find  him 
tasks  enough,  and  pay  him  his  wages  duly.  But,  to  all  these 
shadowy  beings,  so  long  our  near  acquaintances,  —  as  well  Roger 
Chillingworth  as  his  companions,  —  Ave  would  fain  be  merci- 
ful. It  is  a  curious  subject  of  observation  and  inquiry,  whether 
hatred  and  love  be  not  the  same  thing  at  bottom.  Each,  in 
its  utmost  development,  supposes  a  high  degree  of  intimacy 
and  heart-knowledge;  each  renders  one  individual  dependent 
for  the  food  of  his  affections  and  spiritual  life  upon  another; 
each  leaves  the  passionate  lover,  or  the  no  less  passionate 
hater,  forlorn  and  desolate  by  the  withdrawal  of  his  subject. 
Philosophically  considered,  therefore,  the  two  passions  seem 
essentially  the  same,  except  that  one  happens  to  be  seen  in  a 
celestial  radiance,  and  the  other  in  a  dusky  and  lurid  glow. 
In  the  spiritual  world,  the  old  physician  and  the  minister  — 
mutual  victims  as  they  have  been  —  may,  unawares,  have  found 
their  earthly  stock  of  hatred  and  antipathy  transmuted  into  golden 
love. 

Leaving  this  discussion  apart,  we  have  a  matter  of  business 
to  communicate  to  the  reader.  At  old  Roger  Chillingworth's 
decease,  (which  took  place  within  the  year,)  and  by  his  last 
will  and  testament,  of  which  Governor  Bellingham  and  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  were  executors,  he  bequeathed  a  very 
considerable  amount  of  property,  both  here  and  in  England, 
to  little  Pearl,  the  daughter  of  Hester  Prynne. 

So  Pearl  —  the  elf-child,  —  the  demon  offspring,  as  some 
people,  up  to  that  epoch,  persisted  in  considering  her,  —  became 
the  richest  heiress  of  her  day,  in  the  New  World.  Not  improb- 
ably, this  circumstance  wrought  a  very  material   change  in  the 


CONCLUSION.  319 

public  estimation ;  and,  had  the  mother  and  child  remained 
here,  little  Pearl,  at  a  marriageable  period  of  life,  might  have 
mingled  her  wild  blood  with  the  lineage  of  the  devoutest  Puritan 
among  them  all.  But,  in  no  long  time  after  the  physician's 
death,  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter  disappeared,  and  Pearl 
along  with  her.  For  many  years,  though  a  vague  report  would 
now  and  then  find  its  way  across  the  sea,  —  like  a  shapeless 
piece  of  drift-wood  tost  ashore,  with  the  initials  of  a  name  upon 
it,  —  yet  no  tidings  of  them  uncpiestionably  authentic  were 
received.  The  story  of  the  scarlet  letter  grew  into  a  legend. 
Its  spell,  however,  was  still  potent,  and  kept  the  scaffold  awful 
where  the  poor  minister  had  died,  and  likewise  the  cottage  by 
the  sea-shore,  where  Hester  Prynne  had  dwelt.  Near  this  latter 
spot,  one  afternoon,  some  children  were  at  play,  when  they 
beheld  a  tall  woman,  in  a  gray  robe,  approach  the  cottage- 
door.  In  all  those  years  it  had  never  once  been  opened ;  but 
either  she  unlocked  it,  or  the  decaying  wood  and  iron  yielded 
to  her  hand,  or  she  glided  shadow-like  through  these  impedi- 
ments, —  and,  at  all  events,  went  in. 

On  the  threshold  she  paused,  —  turned  partly  round,  —  for, 
perchance,  the  idea  of  entering  all  alone,  and  all  so  changed, 
the  home  of  so  intense  a  former  life,  was  more  dreary  and  deso- 
late than  even  she  could  bear.  But  her  hesitation  was  only  for 
an  instant,  though  long  enough  to  display  a  scarlet  letter  on  her 
breast. 

And  Hester  Prynne  had  returned,  and  taken  up  her  long- 
forsaken  shame !  But  where  was  little  Pearl  ?  If  still  alive,  she 
must  now  have  been  in  the  flush  and  bloom  of  early  woman- 
hood. None  knew  —  nor  ever  learned,  with  the  fulness  of  per- 
fect certainty  —  whether  the  elf-child  had  gone  thus  untimely  to 


320 


THE    SCARLET  LETTER. 


a  maiden  grave;  or  whether  her  wild,  rich  nature  had  been 
softened  and  subdued,  and  made  capable  of  a  woman's  gentle 
happiness.  But,  through  the  remainder  of  Hester's  life,  there 
were  indications   that   the  recluse   of  the    scarlet   letter  was  the 


object  of  love  and  interest  with  some  inhabitant  of  another  land. 
Letters  came,  with  armorial  seals  upon  them,  though  of  bearings 
unknown  to  English  heraldry.  In  the  cottage  there  were  articles 
of  comfort  and  luxury  such  as  Hester  never  cared  to  use,  but 
which    only  wealth    could    have    purchased,    and    affection    have 


CONCLUSION.  321 

imagined  for  her.  There  were  trifles,  too,  little  ornaments, 
beautiful  tokens  of  a  continual  remembrance,  that  must  have 
been  wrought  by  delicate  fingers,  at  the  impulse  of  a  fond  heart. 
And,  once,  Hester  was  seen  embroidering  a  baby-garment,  with 
such  a  lavish  richness  of  golden  fancy  as  would  have  raised  a 
public  tumult,  had  any  infant,  thus  apparelled,  been  shown  to 
our  sober-hued  community. 

In  fine,  the  gossips  of  that  day  believed,  —  and  Mr.  Sur- 
veyor Pue,  who  made  investigations  a  century  later,  believed, 
—  and  one  of  his  recent  successors  in  office,  moreover,  faith- 
fully believes,  —  that  Pearl  was  not  only  alive,  but  married,  and 
happy,  and  mindful  of  her  mother,  and  that  she  would  most 
joyfully  have  entertained  that  sad  and  lonely  mother  at  her  fire- 
side. 

But  there  was  a  more  real  life  for  Hester  Prynne  here,  in 
New  England,  than  in  that  unknown  region  where  Pearl  had 
found  a  home.  Here  had  been  her  sin ;  here,  her  sorrow ;  and 
here  was  yet  to  be  her  penitence.  She  had  returned,  therefore, 
and  resumed,  —  of  her  own  free  will,  for  not  the  sternest  magis- 
trate of  that  iron  period  would  have  imposed  it,  —  resumed  the 
symbol  of  which  we  have  related  so  dark  a  tale.  Never  after- 
wards did  it  quit  her  bosom.  But,  in  the  lapse  of  the  toilsome, 
thoughtful,  and  self-devoted  years  that  made  up  Hester's  life, 
the  scarlet  letter  ceased  to  be  a  stigma  which  attracted  the 
world's  scorn  and  bitterness,  and  became  a  type  of  something 
to  be  sorrowed  over,  and  looked  upon  with  awe,  yet  with  rever- 
ence too.  And,  as  Hester  Prynne  had  no  selfish  ends,  nor  lived 
in  any  measure  for  her  own  profit  and  enjoyment,  people  brought 
all  their  sorrows  and  perplexities,  and  besought  her  counsel,  as 
one  who  had  herself  gone  through    a    mighty  trouble.     Women, 


322         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

more  especially,  —  in  the  continually  recurring  trials  of  wounded, 
wasted,  wronged,  misplaced,  or  erring  and  sinful  passion,  —  or 
with  the  dreary  burden  of  a  heart  unyielded,  because  unvalued 
and  unsought,  —  came  to  Hester's  cottage,  demanding  why  they 
were  so  wretched,  and  what  the  remedy  !  Hester  comforted  and 
counselled  them  as  best  she  might.  She  assured  them,  too,  of 
her  firm  belief,  that,  at  some  brighter  period,  when  the  world 
should  have  grown  ripe  for  it,  in  Heaven's  own  time,  a  new 
truth  would  be  revealed,  in  order  to  establish  the  whole  relation 
between  man  and  woman  on  a  surer  ground  of  mutual  happi- 
ness. Earlier  in  life,  Hester  had  vainly  imagined  that  she 
herself  might  be  the  destined  prophetess,  but  had  long  since 
recognized  the  impossibility  that  any  mission  of  divine  and 
mysterious  truth  should  be  confided  to  a  woman  stained  with 
sin,  bowed  down  with  shame,  or  even  burdened  with  a  life- 
long sorrow.  The  angel  and  apostle  of  the  coming  reve*- 
lation  must  be  a  woman,  indeed,  but  lofty,  pure,  and  beau- 
tiful; and  wise,  moreover,  not  through  dusky  grief,  but  the 
ethereal  medium  of  joy ;  and  showing  how  sacred  love  should 
make  us  happy,  by  the  truest  test  of  a  life  successful  to  such 
an  end ! 

So  said  Hester  Prynne,  and  glanced  her  sad  eyes  downward 
at  the  scarlet  letter.  And,  after  many,  many  years,  a  new 
grave  was  delved,  near  an  old  and  sunken  one,  in  that  burial- 
ground  beside  which  King's  Chapel  has  since  been  built.  It 
was  near  that  old  and  sunken  grave,  yet  with  a  space  between, 
as  if  the  dust  of  the  two  sleepers  had  no  right  to  mingle.  Yet 
one  tombstone  served  for  both.  All  around,  there  were  monu- 
ments carved  with  armorial  bearings;  and  on  this  simple  slab 
of  slate  —  as    the   curious    investigator    may   still    discern,   and 


CONCLUSION.  323 

perplex  himself  with  the  purport  —  there  appeared  the  semblance 
of  an  engraved  escutcheon.  It  bore  a  device,  a  herald's  word- 
ing of  which  might  serve  for  a  motto  and  brief  description  of 
our  now  concluded  legend;  so  sombre  is  it,  and  relieved  only 
by  one  ever-glowing  point  of  light  gloomier  than  the  shadow :  — 

"On  a  field,  sable,  the  letter  A,  gules." 


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Cambridge :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


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